


I will light a fire

by J_Antebellum



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Homeless Strike, Rich Ellacotts, alternative universe, musician Strike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-07-02 21:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 46,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15804699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Antebellum/pseuds/J_Antebellum
Summary: Cormoran Strike has lost his leg, and now, his whole life. He lives as a homeless playing the guitar around Yorkshire, when he meets a gorgeous strawberry-blonde with a heart full of kindness, belonging to a rich family that quickly decides to care for him. As his life gets back in track with the help of the wonderful family, he'll stir some issues in the already crumbling marriage of Robin and her husband Matthew Cunliffe, and love with emerge between Cormoran and Robin.





	1. Christmas

Masham was beautifully decorated with colourful lights hung from window frames and tiles, covered in thick layers of snow. December was proving to be a challenge, freezing cold and making its habitants bury their faces in their scarves and pull their hats down so they’d cover their ears. The snow was falling angrily, colliding with the buildings with the force the wind was carrying, and scaring people off, so they wouldn’t leave their houses, not even for last-minute Christmas gifts. As the night came, a tall, broad man, more like a giant, soaked in snow to his bones, had managed to be let inside a motel, where he was given for free a tiny room out of Christmas’ camaraderie. He was used to living in the street, but the bellow-zero temperatures had made him seriously regret having chosen the north and not the south when he left his best friends’ home months previously. Now, shaking and trying to warm himself up, he thanked the motel owners multiple times and, feeling lucky, sat on his new bed.

All Cormoran Strike carried with himself was his guitar and a backpack with very few belongings, aside from his crutches. Even though he usually hated people taking pity on him, and giving him ‘the looks’, he had to admit it had come in handy during Christmas. People were exceptionally kind then, giving him some money has he played the guitar and sang softly in the streets, with his one leg and a half, as they seemed to be pretty sure God would have them killed if they turned their backs on a disabled man. He had only been in Masham for a couple weeks, in an attempt to go a bit south from where he was, and the citizens there had already surprised him with kindness.

The next day, he accepted a Christmas breakfast for free, and, feeling more grateful than ever towards strangers’ kindness, he went out again.

“Come back tonight, will you?” the motel owner, a middle-aged woman, pleaded him as he left the place.

“Thank you,” Strike nodded and went off to his bench at the main square of the small town. The sun had barely just come out, and he was freezing underneath his enormous, long coat and his beanie. Playing the guitar was a challenge when his fingers were so numb and he couldn’t take his gloves off.

Then, his melody started one day more. Like every day, he started playing and singing, accepting people’s handouts, and smiling at children so they’d insist their parents gave him money. Everyone was heading home soon, for Christmas lunch, and Strike, hungry as he was, settled with buying a sandwich with the money he had made, since he felt bad taking advantage of the motel’s pity.

Strike tried not to shake so much as he ate his sandwich with gloves filled with tiny holes, and tried to keep his stump warm under his backpack. He thought then of his sister, Lucy, of how sad and worried she’d be about him, and the same about his friends. Strike sometimes wanted to come back, say he was sorry, beg for forgiveness, but he was too angry at himself, too ashamed, and one thing was depend on strangers’ kindness, but another very different was to become a weight on his family’s shoulders. He wouldn’t consent to that. They had done more than enough for him.

The church’s bells woke him from his slumber when he had fallen asleep without realising. He looked up, seeing the snowstorm had gotten so bad he couldn’t see three meters in front of him, and he walked in the direction of the bells. St. Mary the Virgin’s church wasn’t so far away, and Strike had no doubt it’d be open. It was Christmas, after all. He made his way inside after walking through a path of tombstones, and sighed in relief feeling the temperature rise just a little. The church was empty, and he walked between rows of wooden benches to the altar, where a cross stood on a long table covered with a mantle.

Strike wouldn’t call himself a religious man; he was pretty much atheist. But his sister was deeply Anglican, and Strike felt for her now more than ever. She, who was alone with her husband and children. She, whose brother had left her, whose mother had died, and whose father didn’t know shit about her, even though he had somewhat tried to be a good father. She, who had given him all she had been able to. Strike saw then there was a place to light candles, so he reluctantly put in one of his coins, and lighted a candle.

“Take care of Luce for me, will you? She likes you,” grumbled Strike looking at the cross. Then, suddenly feeling sad and lonely, like he hadn’t felt in a long time, he looked at the cushions on the wooden benches and he decided to sit there, as he was too big to fit in the tiny bench.

Strike tightened his coat around himself and shivered noticeably. He felt incredibly exhausted now, and his eyelids felt heavy. His curly dark hair had grown over months of not taking care of it properly, more than cutting the ends with scissors, and was thick a thick mane of hair. His beard was abundant, thick and getting long, and Strike noticed the sole of his shoe was coming off. With a weight in his chest, he lied back, and fell asleep.

**. . .**

Sleep seemed to abandon Strike shortly after it had arrived, and his eyes opened difficulty, the lids feeling really heavy still. Exhaustion hadn’t left him yet, and he didn’t feel capable of moving at all. However, upon recognising himself in a big bed, comfortably tucked and stripped off his coat, he sat up suddenly, in momentary panic, and looked around.

He was in a small room that looked warm and cosy. There were long curtains over the windows, paintings on the walls, a carpet on the floor, and a chimney at the feet of the bed, the flames dancing inside of it. Strike saw himself in a comfortable big bed, and he saw that the night stand contained a glass of water and chocolate muffins. He quickly drank half a bottle and ate a couple muffins, and he was just cleaning his hands with a napkin when the door opened and he looked at it, startled.

“Oh, I hope you liked the muffins. I figured you would be hungry,” the woman standing in front of Strike had a voice soft and warm, and smiled at him in a way that made Strike’s insides warm up and purr. She had a long, beautiful strawberry-blonde hair, and sparkling blue-gray eyes, her nose covered in freckles as she looked tenderly at him. Strike noticed she was wearing a sapphire ring next to a wedding band. “I’m Robin,” she added, walking to him and sitting on an armchair. “How are you?”

“I’m...” Strike cleared his voice, feeling it hoarse and heavy. “I’m okay. What am I doing here?” he asked with a tone of surprise, pulling from the sheets as he realised he was only in his underwear shirt and boxers, and felt self-conscious. “And where is ‘here’?”

“Well, yesterday I found you at the church, you were unconscious and hypothermic, so my father and my uncle helped carry you here, you’re a big man,” Robin chuckled sympathetically. Strike was very thin now, scandalously so, although he had always been almost fat and full of muscle. “This is my family’s house, our guest room. We’re still in Masham, just the outsides. I hope you don’t mind; we didn’t steal from you or anything, we just wanted to help you, otherwise you would’ve died. Temperatures dropped ten degree last night. It’s Christmas, you shouldn’t be alone out there.”

Strike nodded slowly, assimilating the news. He had almost died from the cold and hadn’t even realised, and those people had just brought him to a warm bed and given him all their hospitality. Strike didn’t know what to say.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, looking at Robin with affection. “Thank you very much. I won’t bother you any longer, if you could hand me my clothes...”

“You mean those dirty rags you were wearing?” Robin frowned. Strike shrugged and looked down. “They were washed and your gloves had been stitched up together, but your shoes are in no shape, and those clothes aren’t still warm enough. Would you please accept staying here for a few weeks until the weather is better? I wouldn’t want you getting sick and dying out there, I mean, unless you have somewhere else to go.” Robin looked sad and Strike felt a strong impulse of taking her sadness away, and nodded.

“No, I...” Strike sighed. “I’ve got nowhere to go. It’s so kind of you to let me stay and wash my clothes, you didn’t have to do that... and if it truly doesn’t bother you if I stick around for a bit, I would appreciate staying, yes.”

Robin looked up and grinned happily, crinkling her nose.

“It’s going to be so fun! We’ll get you some new clothes and new shoes, and my grandmother is cooking a chicken to die for, you’re going to love it. Any allergies I should know of?” Strike blinked, surprised, and then smiled, shaking his head at that weirdo who was getting super excited about taking care of a homeless. “Great! Let me go get you some clothes and I’ll bring you a good mug of warm chocolate!”

That said, Robin flew out of the room and Strike sat there, stupefied.

 

 


	2. The family

Shortly after, Strike was handed his own clothes, just looking much cleaner and prettier than they had been in ages. Robin had put in his backpack a couple big jumpers that Strike didn’t remember owning but that fit him and were warm, so he accepted them without complaining, and then Robin handed her some soft, warm slippers and his crutches, and led him to the crowded living room, as they were already in the ground floor. Strike felt suddenly self-conscious. The house seemed enormous and this family clearly had money, and Strike didn’t know a soul.

“This is my family,” introduced Robin, happy and cheerful. “My parents, Michael and Linda,” she pointed at two middle-aged persons, who stood up from the sofa and shook his hand. Both were strawberry-blonde haired, with white parts, and both looked happy to see him and smiled warmly at him. “My brothers, Stephen, with his wife Amanda, and then it’s Martin and Jon. And Nana Molly. Guys, this is...” Robin looked at Strike in sudden doubt. She had no idea who he was, and Strike chimed in.

“Cormoran,” said Strike. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“It’s our pleasure, Cormoran,” Grandma Molly chuckled at him through her big glasses, stopping mid-game of chess with Jon, who seemed the youngest of them all.

“Yes,” Michael, Robin’s father, nodded with satisfaction. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want. Are you feeling better? You scared us.”

“Ah, yes, thank you,” Strike nodded, looking around the impressive room, beautifully decorated. “Actually uhm...” he felt his gut shiver and looked at Robin, shy. “I’m a bit hungry still...”

“Oh, of course, you have been sleeping for 24h, you must be starved!” Robin chuckled sympathetically. “No problem, the chicken must be almost ready...”

“Just one hour,” intervened Robin’s grandmother. “It was a very fat chicken.” She added with a smirk looking at Strike.

“Tell you what, I’ll give you another muffin and if you want, you can take a bath while lunch finishes getting ready,” Robin suggested looking at Strike, who looked pleased and touched. He didn’t know when was the last time he had bathed, nor done his needs in a clean, private bathroom.

“That would be lovely, and uh, may I get uh, something to shave?” Strike gestured towards his beard, blushing all self-conscious. “I haven’t shaven in ages and this is a bird nest.” Robin smiled tenderly.

“Of course, anything you need, just ask.”

Robin led Strike first to the huge kitchen, where the chef was working, which confirmed for Strike that Robin had a lot of money, and after Strike finished his third muffin, he crutched behind Robin as she led him to the en suite bathroom he hadn’t noticed his bedroom have. Right next to the door, his guitar rested in its case on top of a large desk.

“Here,” Robin opened the bathroom. Strike’s jaw fell as he saw there was a small pool that must be the bathtub, Robin was already turning the tap on, and a bathrobe, impeccable marble floor, clean towels and slippers, and a few bottles next to the ‘bathtub’. There was also a bag next to the sink, with a hairbrush and toothbrush and dental hygiene products. “This one is the gel, shampoo, body lotion, hair conditioner, and these are salts, for the water, if you like them. Here,” Robin opened a cabinet. “First aid things, and here,” she opened the cabinet next to it, “you have shaving stuff and more toilet paper if you run out of it.”

“This is...” Strike shook his head. “Why are you so kind to me? For all you know, I could be a serial killer.” Robin chuckled at him.

“You don’t have the eyes of a serial killer,” she said simply and, leaving him speechless, left him to his needs.

After doing his necessities, Strike weighted himself on a scale he had seen under the sink and saw he was severely underweight for a man as tall as six feet, three inches. His bones were showing around his face as he shaved, his wrists and fingers, he had no belly and his knees and arms were scrawny. His ribs were noticeable here and there too. Strike did his best to shave himself properly, only leaving a bit of stubble because he was used to seeing hair there, and then he used the machine (came with a whole mini briefcase with several pieces you could use) to shave his hair a little, leaving it very short and with a bit of bangs. It wasn’t perfect, but the difference was noticeable.

Then, Strike tidied up, brushed his teeth thoroughly, and got into the tub, that had filled in the meantime. He was thankful here was a bar he could use to get in and out. He moaned loudly at the feeling of the warm water, and sat content. His body was covered in a dense mane of thick dark hair that now seemed to float in the water, and there were scars here and there. As Strike closed his eyes and leaned back, the paleness in his face made contrast with the deep bags under his eyes and it took him a minute to feel like moving and cleaning himself up. He washed his hair thoroughly, scrubbing to make sure he got rid of bugs or other crap, he cleaned his ears, face, all of him got scrubbed properly, and when he found a nail clipper in a drawer, he made sure to leave his nails neat. He had always been a neat guy and found himself disgusted by dirtiness, so he had been disgusted with himself for a long time and felt like a new person as he got dressed again and made it back outside.

Even if his clothes looked enormous on him, Strike made an effort to make them look nice and he followed the voices, crutching until he got to a room that seemed like a dining room, now full of people carrying things onto the table. Strike stood there confused and lost and then Robin spotted him and smiled, approaching him while pulling from the hand of a tall man with a very handsome appearance and an air of superiority that made Strike dislike him automatically.

“Look at you! I almost didn’t recognise you, you look super handsome!” Robin cheered happily. “And I must add you smell wonderfully. How was that bath, feeling good?”

“Better than in a long time, thank you,” Strike smiled a little.

“I’m glad,” Robin grinned. “I wanted to introduce you to my husband, Matthew. He was out with his family before. Matt, this is my new friend, Cormoran, the man I told you about.”

“Hi,” Matthew smiled coldly at him and Strike mumbled a greeting too. Matthew wore a stylish suit Strike could tell had been tailored specifically for him, and had his hair neatly cut and brushed. He was obviously younger than Strike too. They didn’t shake hands, both with the silent excuse that he was holding onto both crutches in the moment. “How are you?” he asked out of politeness.

“I’m fine, it’s nice to meet you,” Strike nodded for himself.

“Why don’t you sit here next to me?” Robin signalled a chair to Strike. “Here, let me fill your plate...”

“It smells wonderfully, congrats to the cookers,” commented Strike as he sat down and put his crutches aside. He had sat between Robin and a man who introduced himself as Uncle Charles ‘just Charlie’, and his plate was immediately filled with chicken, potatoes and sauce. A smaller plate was filled with fruit and given to him, and his glass was filled with water. Strike noticed he had a cup also and soon found out what it was for, when Charlie offered him beer, that he accepted.

“Cormoran is going to stay with us for a while, right darling?” commented Grandma Molly to the rest of the people that filled the table, smiling warmly at him.

“It’d be my honour,” said Strike very thankful, looking at everything appreciatively.

“Let’s bless the table, why don’t you do it, Di, sweetheart?” Charlie looked at a young girl who looked a lot like him and who couldn’t be older than thirty, at most.

Diana, strawberry-blonde like everyone else except Matthew and Strike, nodded, and everyone interlaced their fingers with their elbows on the table. Strike obeyed to the popular demand.

“Lord, we thank you for all the food you’ve graced us with, for the top class company we count with today, and for all that’s good in our lives. Today, we also thank you for having brought our new friend Cormoran into our lives,” Strike observed impressed, but Diana, with her eyes closed in concentration, merely smiled to herself. “And giving him a chance to be treated like he deserves. We promise we’ll do our best because no one deserves to be alone and without a place to call home. Amen.”

“Amen,” everyone said at once. Strike followed a little far behind, looking at those people as if they were aliens, trying to think of one thing he might’ve done to deserve such kindness and helpfulness, and he started thinking that maybe it was time to become religious.

 


	3. The offer

“So Cormoran, dear,” said a woman that Strike had learnt was Aunt Connie, Charles’ wife and the mother of Diana and her older sister Gwen, as they were in the middle of the main course. “Your accent doesn’t strike me as local, are you a southern?” she asked with interest but without an intrusive tone.

Strike gulped the food he was munching, resisting the urge to purr, and looked into the green eyes of the blonde woman. As she wasn’t part of the family by blood, her hair wasn’t strawberry, just blonde.

“Actually,” Strike paused a moment. How much of him did he want them to know? Perhaps just enough to keep them happy. “I am, well thought. I’m Cornish.”

“Cornish!” Linda chuckled at him. “That’s one wonderful place to grow up in! What brought you here, so far away?”

Strike shrugged, not really knowing what to say.

“I got sick of life and wanted a change of air,” murmured Strike. “Seems it was a turn for the worse but, I would still like to stick in the North. South England doesn’t seem for me any more.”

There was an air of concern in the table, but everyone seemed too polite to intrude further. Then, Matthew spoke.

“And what are you planning to do? If my wife hadn’t found you, you’d be dead, and you cannot live off her kindness...”

“Matt!” Robin interrupted, indignant. “He’s not living off my kindness, he’s getting the help he needs to reach his own goals, and mind you, it’s an honour to help someone good.”

“You don’t know who he is, babe, you know nothing about him,” Matthew reasoned. “I was just asking him what are those goals then, nothing offensive about that.” Robin went to argue, but Strike interrupted, not wanting to stir an argument between the marriage.

“No, it’s fine, Robin, your husband’s got obvious concerns, he cares about you,” Strike intervened, mostly trying to convince himself. “It’s true that I’m a stranger, and is not every day that a family takes someone like me in, straight from the street, without minding their baggage. One thing is adopting a stray dog, but with people it could actually be dangerous. So well, Matthew...” Strike continued, balancing his thoughts carefully to avoid punching Matthew and his presumptuous air. “In response to your... concerns... I am planning to get myself back on my feet. Actually, I have been trying to find a job for over six months now, which is what made me leave my home and try to find luck somewhere else. But luck didn’t strike me, so I ran out of my savings as I had to pay food and motels, and wound-up in the street. It wasn’t because of addiction, it wasn’t alcoholism, it wasn’t any kind of dark businesses. I just had to quit my job for some personal reasons and then made all the wrong decisions to wind-up without a penny and without another job, that’s all.”

“See?” Robin said to Matthew. “He’s a perfectly good man who just got into some trouble, unintentionally, he just needs a break and some help. Don’t worry Cormoran, with our help you’ll have a decent job in no time, you’ll see.” Robin added in a nicer tone smiling at Strike, at the other side of her, and squeezing his hand on the table, which sent jolts of electricity up his arm.

“Poor thing, and didn’t your parents offer a hand?” asked Jon with a frown. “It seems rather cruel...”

“I don’t have living parents, actually,” said Strike. Jon immediately went to apologize, but Strike smiled and shook his hand, not minding the comment. “All I have is a little sister, but you know, a big brother has it very hard to let a little sister have to care for him. Besides, she’s a very busy woman, works very hard, has little children to worry about... and although she’s always offered me all the help, always insisted I’d take it... I just couldn’t be a weight on her shoulders any longer. I could see how anxious and stressed and worried I made her, and I owe her better. I’m still the big one, I’m still the one who should take care of her, and seeing how my bad luck affected her, I just had to leave for her own benefit. She has no idea my luck got even worse, though; I contact her every month or every couple months and make her believe I’m living the good life, working at something that keeps me travelling around England, so she cannot visit because I’m never two days in one same place. Tell her I can’t send her letters often because I’m busy, and when the phone company cancelled the service in my phone, I told her I was cutting expenses, since I was never much of an internet person anyway.” Strike explained patiently. He didn’t want to reveal much, but he wanted to make sure those people weren’t suspicious of him.

Everyone seemed to think that he was worth of admiration after hearing those things, and after lunch, Strike offered to help cleaning the dishes. There was service to do it, but Strike helped anyway. He was just finishing up when Robin appeared.

“So I was thinking,” said Robin casually as Strike finished up and looked at her, stabilising in his crutches. She looked excited and cheerful, pretty much the same as always. “Why don’t you hand me your resume and I pass it around?”

Strike looked at her, surprised, and nodded. They went to his bedroom, a few doors next to the kitchen, and Strike looked inside his backpack, cleaner than he had seen it in months, and finally retrieved a folder full of copies of his curriculum. He gave it to Robin.

“All of Masham has my curriculum already though. It’s a small place, they don’t need many employees,” Strike commented sadly. Robin pursed her lips in concentration as she read the curriculum.

“Cormoran Strike,” she read. Her eyebrows rose. “You were a soldier?” she asked, looking at him. Strike nodded.

“Did a few years in the Army before joining the SIB, that’s right. Ideally, I’d still work in the security world, but with this leg...” Strike sat on the bed and looked at his stump. “I’m not fit for a prosthesis yet. I can only work sitting down.” Robin nodded in acknowledgement.

“I think I may have something for you,” said Robin. “If you’re good at Math, this puts you more as the books kind of person.” She chuckled to his CV in her hand. He had worked at book stores as a teen. Strike’s eyes widened and he nodded.

“I can do complex Math in my head. I’m good at statistics too, organization, numbers... all of it, I’m great.” Robin nodded, smiling.

“Then I think you’re no longer unemployed, Mr. Strike.”

 


	4. Lucy

Robin led Strike through the enormous house into a small sitting room, and excused herself for a moment to go upstairs and ‘get something’. Strike couldn’t follow due to his leg, so he sat in one of the two spotless beige sofas that framed a big rug. Strike’s curious eyes looking around, noticing a big bookshelf, a lamp, and a painting he recognised as Friedrich’s ‘Wanderer above the sea of fog’ covered most of a wall. It was then that a big black dog appeared, sniffed his feet, and simply lied at his feet. Strike, surprised, patted his head until Robin came back, and the strawberry-blonde was soon smiling at them, carrying a big book.

“I see you’ve met _Rowntree_ ,” Robin commented sitting next to him and patting the dog as well.

“He’s very friendly,” said Strike. “What’s that?” he added, pointing at Robin’s book.

“This is our account book,” replied Robin. “You see, Cormoran, my family is the founder and owner of ‘The Ellacott Farm & Equestrian Centres’. Founded by my grandfather, my family’s company has been making business selling some of the best vegetables of Yorkshire and giving riding lessons. Our horses have won several championships across England, which gave us a good reputation and between one thing and another, as you can see, we’ve made a lot of money over the years. My grandfather used to do the numbers, but he passed away recently,” Strike mumbled ‘Sorry to hear’ and Robin nodded. “Thing is, he was the best doing the Math and we haven’t been able to find someone trustworthy to keep up the good work. Do you think you could deal with this?”

Robin put the book on Strike’s lap and he examined page after page cautiously for a few minutes, concentrated, until he eventually nodded.

“Yes,” confirmed Strike out loud. “I understand your grandfather’s system, is very smart. I’m sure I can manage.” He smiled to Robin, who grinned happily.

“Great! You can work wherever you want, and the book will stay in your room, there’s a secret safe behind the horses painting,” said Robin. “It is important that you’re the only one touching the book and knowing what goes on in it. We hold a meeting monthly to discuss it, and then you can tell us a briefing of what’s going on, and of course anytime you need to talk about this, you can do so with me or my parents, my brother Stephen, my cousins or Uncle Charlie. We’re the ones who make the important decisions, usually. You see, if someone got their hands on the book and manipulated the numbers, we could lose everything, so please be very cautious. I’m trusting you with years of my family’s hard work, sweat and tears.”

Strike looked at her in disbelief and nodded slowly.

“I...” Strike found himself a bit speechless. “Woah. Thank you, Robin, I promise I’ll be up to the task and take good care of this.”

“I knew you were to be trusted,” Robin looked pleased and satisfied. “We must talk about your payment then. Uhm... how about six thousand pounds monthly, and you can stay at the house? It’s about what we had talked of paying someone for this task.” Strike’s jaw dropped. “Oh and of course, you wouldn’t have to worry about paying taxes or anything, you can just hire your phone service again.” She chuckled at him and Strike’s eyebrows rose to his hairline.

“What? No paying anything, after all you’ve given me? But Robin, that’s a lot of money...”

“That I know will be in the best hands. Buy your nephews something, send your sister some Christmas gifts, or dunno, just be happy,” Robin shrugged, getting up. “I’ll tell Stephen to write down the contract then. Of course, you can take as many holidays as you wish and work the hours the way you want to, as long as you’re ready for our monthly videoconference reunion and you keep the book up to date. My brother Stephen will daily hand you all the info you need to do your Math and put in the book, and anything you need, you just ask. Oh, and you will need a key, let me get you one, I’ll be right back.”

Robin disappeared again and left Strike sitting there with _Rowntree_ , the family look, staring at the book on his lap in disbelief. That was it. He was going to get money and he could work anywhere, anytime, and live in a luxurious house with a pool-tub. Strike didn’t want to ever wake up from this beautiful dream.

After a key-chain was given to him, each key of one colour ‘office, library, house...’ the names went on and on, Robin communicated the happy news to the rest of the family, that with the exception of Matthew, seemed to think it was excellent news. Strike had noticed Matthew didn’t seem to like him much. Then, Grandma Molly requested to speak with Strike in private, and they went to Strike’s bedroom, where he sat on his bed and she took an armchair next to it. She was a very tiny woman next to Strike, and had bright light blue eyes, wrinkled hands and face, and a youthful, cheerful expression. Her hair, gone almost completely white, was long and up in a messy bum, and she wore a dress and her make-up on point. She stared at him as if they were family, and Strike instantly felt at ease.

“Cormoran, welcome to the family business,” she said then, with a soft and warm voice, that felt like a caress. “We were very reticent to hire a stranger for such important matters,” she added, her strong Yorkshire accent present, “but... I feel good vibes about you. I think you’re going to be a great addition. I wanted to let you know that in this family, we help and care for each other and, if you ever need anything, you will always find an Ellacott up and ready. So please, do not betray us, alright? You can make mistakes at work and, if you consult often, we’ll notice before it has terrible consequences and fix it, you can break something by accident, you don’t have to be perfect at everything all the time, okay? That’s fine. But if you betray us, if you take all the heart and trust we’ve put on you and you stab us in the back, you will break our hearts. Do not do that.”

“I would never, Molly,” assured Strike, nodding firmly. Grandma Molly smiled sincerely.

“Good. And please, if you feel you’re having difficulties and need help, or anything at all, do not hesitate to tell us. We know you’ve never done this, Robin made us a briefing of your curriculum, it’s okay if you’re lost at first, we will help you. And if you find another job you love more, that’s also okay, we will be happy to see you do the stuff you truly love, we know you’re more an action kind of guy. But hopefully, this will be the trampoline you needed, right?”

“Undoubtedly. I don’t know how to thank you all, Molly...” Strike felt overwhelmed all of the sudden. Not three days ago, he was living in below zero temperatures, always hungry, always begging for a bed here or there, a piece of bread, somewhere. He had survived that way since the beginning of the summer, travelling around until his shoes gave up and crumbled to pieces, begging, and begging in a way he had never begged for anything, and now all of the sudden this family saved his life and granted him all he needed. “I don’t...” Strike sniffled, feeling his eyes fill with tears. “I don’t deserve so much good...” he sobbed out, rubbing his eyes impatiently. Molly moved to sit next to him and put an arm around him. Strike noticed she smelled soft and sweet like the perfume his mother used to use.

“Nonsense, Cormoran,” Molly argued, caressing his hair as he sobbed silently against his hands. “We all make mistakes, Cormoran. I know you feel guilty for things you did, but none of them makes you unworthy of so much good, the ones who are unworthy live in high security prisons. You are a good man. You’ve deserved this for so long, and God wanted this for you, it just took longer than anyone wanted and now you have it. Now be good and fix your errors. Call your family. Forgive them if they offended you, and promise to visit them as soon as possible, and when you’re ready, you must see them, alright? We need our family. If your sister is all you have, remember you’re all she has too.”

Strike nodded, taking a deep breath, and calmed himself. Molly smiled and got up.

“Thanks, Molly. I’ll do my best,” promised Strike. Molly then pointed to the bookshelf and Strike noticed there was a phone he hadn’t seen previously.

“All our guest rooms have their own landline, for comfort,” said Molly, smiling at him. “Make good choices.”

“I will,” Strike smiled, and Molly left. Breathing deeply, Strike rubbed his face with his t-shirt and leaped to get the phone. It had an old style, black and the landline number was written on a paper tapped to it, in case Strike wished to give the number away.

Sitting in bed with the phone, whose cable was long enough to reach the bed, Strike waited for a few moments, braving-up, before calling his sister, whose name he had memorised. After a few rings, a young, childish voice answered.

“Hello?” Strike recognised the voice of his middle nephew, four-year-old Jack, and even though he had never been very keen of children, he smiled.

“Hello, Jack. It’s Uncle Cormoran, may I speak with mummy, please?”

“Uncle Corm! Hi! I got a new spaceship for Christmas!”

“That’s lovely, Jack,” Strike vowed to be patient. “We will play with it when I visit next time. Can you pass the phone to mummy now, please? Tell her it’s Uncle Corm”

“Okay,” Strike put the phone away from his ear, knowing what was next, and surely enough, then Jack yelled. “MUMMY!!! UNCLE CORM ON PHONE!”

Strike snorted a laugh and pressed the phone against his ear again, lying down on the bed. He waited patiently for a few minutes and then Lucy got on the phone.

“Stick? Is that you?”

“Merry Christmas, sis,” said Strike cheerfully. He heard Lucy choke down a sob. “I’m sorry I didn’t call on the actual Christmas day yesterday, but I was unwell with food poisoning and slept all day. Today I’m a new man.” He half-lied.

“Oh, Stick!” Lucy sobbed out. “I’ve missed you so much! Where are you? How are you? When are you visiting?” Strike let a breath out and decided to be as honest as possible.

“I’ve settled down for now, in Masham, North Yorkshire. I just got an excellent job deal here and they’re paying super well and I have an office phone, which is this one. Next year I will make sure to have mobile service again, I promise,” he added with a chuckle to himself. “And uh, I don’t know when I can visit, since I just got in Masham and I have to settle down and everything, but I think I’ll probably do in a month or two, I can work from anywhere, you see? It’s pretty great.”

“Oh, God!” said Lucy. “That’s wonderful! How’s the job, how much are you making now?”

“It’s great, do you know ‘The Ellacott Farm & Equestrian Centres?”

“Uh...” Lucy’s voice tone said it all.

“Well, they’re a big deal here in the North because they’re vegetables are the best of Yorkshire and their horses are excellencies, apparently. So anyway, I met one of the Ellacotts, Robin, and she told me they were looking for someone to do their books because the person who did it passed away, and they offered me the job! They pay six thousand pounds monthly, Luce!” said Strike full of excitement. Lucy squealed on the other line. “And that’s not even the best. The family is super sweet, kind, giving, selfless... and they offered me a room at their huge house. It has its own phone, I’m calling you from it. I don’t have to pay anything, they feed me and everything. They’re so nice and they’re always offering any help and insisting if I need anything I let them know, and I’m so grateful, I can’t believe I’ve been blessed like this. I was dying to call you, I’m signing the contract later today, they had to finish it up.”

“Stick, but that’s absolutely wonderful! What’s the trap? There has to be a ‘but’, right?”

“God I just hope they don’t wake up tomorrow and change their minds, this is too good to be true. As long as I’m settled though, I’m going to insist on paying something for the room, I can’t accept so much luxury for nothing. You should see my new bathtub, is almost as big as Nick and Ilsa’s pool.” He sniggered, feeling so happy all of the sudden.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thanks for the comments and support!
> 
> If you like to, you can follow me in my tumblr https://thetrunkofthenighttraveler.tumblr.com/ where I basically post about Cormoran Strike and its actors, quotes, bits of Harry Potter and a tiny bit of Krashlyn (two USWNT players that are lesbian TOGETHER).
> 
> Hugs to you all!


	5. Drinks and chocolates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who gives me spoilers on Lethal White will receive a distance hug and special mentions. Love me some spoilers.

After dinner, Strike felt a little under the weather, figuring the little cold he seemed to be getting for a few days had struck him fully now, so he decided to bid goodnight to everyone early and go to bed. He was, however, so happy, still in disbelief about the turn of his luck, and still remembering Lucy's excitement and happiness. She was always so worried about him, it was exhausting, so it was a nice change to have her be happy for something he did for once. Between one thing or another, he was too excited to fall asleep, so he opened the accounts book Robin had given him, and started studying Mr Ellacott's system, that seemed pretty logical and easy for him.

He hadn't been at it for too long, dressed in his old pyjamas and lying on his bed tucked to the elbows, when there was a knock on the door and Robin's happy smile, although now tired, peeked inside his bedroom.

“Hello, am I interrupting?” asked Robin unsure. Strike chuckled and shook his head.

“Not at all, come in,” Robin closed the door behind her. “I was just studying your grandpa's system. He must've been a pretty smart man, this is very well organised.”

“Yes,” Robin nodded, sitting on the armchair by the bed. “He was a bright man, he used to say he had the crazy ideas and my grandma, who you've met, would shape them into something beautiful.” She added with a soft smile. Strike nodded.

“Good team,” commented Strike.

“So...” Robin shrugged. She looked a bit nervous. “I was thinking of giving you your first pay tomorrow, if that's okay.” Strike's eyes widened.

“But Robin, I haven't worked for a day yet.”

“I know,” Robin smiled nervously. “I was just thinking, who cares if we pay you one month extra, right? Usually, employees get an extra for the festivities, and you haven't gotten any, so it's the least we could do. To us is no bother, and we know you would appreciate it.” Strike looked at her with a half smile.

“I'm not a homeless any more, you don't have to throw money in my hat,” said Strike kindly. “You've done so much for me, and I can't accept all of this with a clean conscience.”

“Fine,” said Robin. “Then, I'll give you five thousand this month only, and we'll pretend the missing thousand is because you're paying the room.” Strike sniggered and nodded.

“Can we make it permanent?” asked Strike. “Take one thousand monthly and I'll feel much better.” Robin was going to argue, but Strike gave her a deep glance and Robin puffed.

“Alright!” Robin acceded. “In any case, I was thinking you'd need some new clothes, right? And probably some shoes. We could go shopping tomorrow, make it a Christmas push-the-boat-out.”

Strike thought about it. He really missed the feel of new clothes, he had plenty of money to spare, and he had promised to visit Lucy 'soon'. Besides, he only had a few clothes in his backpack, not enough to fill a quarter of his new closet. He would definitely need some, plus shoes.

“That's a good idea, Robin, that way you can help me find some Christmas presents for some women in my life,” he suggested, and Robin grinned excitedly. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome. This is going to be great, my husband hates going shopping,” Robin got up. “Well, I'll leave you to rest. Goodnight!”

“Goodnight, sweet dreams!”

“You too!” Added Robin, already closing the door after leaving the room.

Strike put the book on his bedside table and, turning the lamp light off, he snuggled up in bed. The mattress was so soft he felt his muscles relax immediately, the bed was warm, the sheets had been changed as he dinned, and it smelled nice. He couldn't help falling asleep with a smile in his face.

In the morning, Robin woke him up early and, after having a delicious English breakfast with extra bacon, they got inside Robin's Land Rover.

“You drive _this_?” Strike commented stunned as he got comfortable in the copilot seat. The car was old and smelled heavily of dog. Robin giggled.

“I love this car, and no one steals it in London.”

“Oh, you live in London?” asked Strike, even more impressed. He had figured she lived in Masham.

“Indeed,” Robin pulled outside the parking lot, where several family cars were parked, alongside employees' cars, and got into the thin road. “Matt has always been in love with London, he was an accountant, and then he got an idea one day and founded a company that advices bigger companies, you know, they design business strategies, suggest ideas, fix company issues... those things. He studied a few extra courses and masters for that,” she commented proudly, her eyes fixed on the road. Strike observed her intently, seeing the freckles on her nose seemed more evident with the sun. She wasn't wearing much make-up. “So he had to move to London because it would be great for the business and he wanted to, and I followed. I'm a Human Resources worker in our company and also for the public administration in London.”

“Woah,” Strike looked impressed. “So you're not in the family business that much? I thought you were a big boss.” Robin chuckled.

“I am a big boss,” Strike snorted a laugh at her mocking tone. “I just don't like making big decisions. I just participate and intervene in everything my family decides, and I work actively with our human resources and put ideas on the table. I like to stay involved, so from the distance, I do my part. Sometimes I travel here, if it's needed,” Robin shrugged. “We're here on holiday, the rest of the year, Matt and I live in Camden.”

“Good choice,” said Strike without thinking. This time Robin was surprised.

“You know London?”

“Oh, yeah,” Strike nodded. “My sister's family live in Bromley, and my best friends live in Wandsworth. Even I lived in London for years.”

“Oh...” Robin nodded, impressed. “Traveller you are.” She commented as she continued driving. “Let's go to Harrogate, shall we? They have awesome stores there.” Strike nodded in agreement and she took the deviation to Harrogate. “You know, I actually googled you last night. Didn't go far in because I don't like hearing people's stories from the internet, I just wanted to see if anything horrible came up, like, an arrest for murder.”

Strike looked nervously at her, frowning lightly. He knew she knew.

“Turns out you're a bit of a celebrity yourself,” commented Robin in a light tone. “Is that right? Your mum was the Leda Strike, no less. And Jonny Rokeby. You're the son of rock-stars, no wonder you had a guitar with you.”

“I am Cormoran Strike,” grumbled Strike, looking through the window, suddenly serious. “I'm not a rock-star, I just play the guitar because my mum taught me and...” he shut up before he said 'it reminds me of her and I miss her'. “I'm just – I don't belong in that world, Robin, and I don't want to belong to it. I don't want paparazzi after my arse, I don't want my privacy invaded, I don't want to be related to the Rokebys. Please,” he looked at her pleadingly as she continued driving, now looking the most serious she had ever looked. “Promise me you won't Google me further.”

“Of course,” said Robin resolved. “I'm sorry if I intruded too much... I promise that's all I saw. Well, that and about your leg, it just popped out first thing... but that's all. Can I ask, though, why don't you like the Rokebys? They seem pretty cool, and in the magazines he always talks very sweetly about his sons.”

“Have you ever heard him talk about me?” inquired Strike. Robin frowned in realisation.

“No, actually.”

“My father left my mum for another woman,” said Strike. “Not Ed and Al's mum, someone else before she. My mum found out she was pregnant with me and went to his changing room one day all excited to tell him, during one of his concerts. She opened the door and found him fucking this woman right there on the floor, and that was it. He never came to apologise or anything, he looked at my mum straight in the eye and say 'well, at least now I don't have to tell you'. He asked for the divorce and even when my mum told him she was pregnant and he was the dad, he didn't care. He said, and I quote what my mum quote, 'you're not getting a penny from me, and neither does your son'. Eventually mum took him to court and forced him to pay child support and those things, but yeah, the bastard broke his heart and then he never gave a shit about contacting me or anything so...” Strike shrugged. He didn't like talking about the topic and he didn't know why Robin was getting answers out of him without even making many questions, just so easily. “I don't want to know anything about him. I'd rather he wasn't my father.”

“Bugger...” Robin sighed. Strike looked at her surprised because that word sounded just so nicely in her lips with her Yorkshire accent. “What a bastard! I'm never admiring him again,” she declared, making him chuckle at hearing her talk shit like that. It was kind of adorable. “You know what, you got lucky, I bet he has his sons spoiled and they're impossible to stand.”

“Al is alright,” commented Strike. “We're mates. He contacted me when he was super young, found me online and he was super excited about having a big brother, so we meet every now and then and he brings me stuff from his trips. He even visited me in the hospital several times and brags about me a lot.”

“Haha!” Robin chuckled. “That's a brother. Little Martin was like that with me when he was an adorable toddler. Now he's not so cute any-more” She added playfully, and Strike chuckled.

There was a long drive ahead, as Harrogate was over an hour away.

“Talking about family,” Robin commented after a while. “Have you called Lucy yet?”

“Actually, yes,” replied Strike, suppressing a sneeze that made his eyes glassy. “Yesterday. She was so happy, Robin. I told her I got a new job here and all, told her about you and your family, she was thrilled, and she's not one to be content with my lifestyle. It's important she doesn't know about me being a homeless or you finding me almost dead, alright? Please. I know it seems stupid, but she just worries too much, she's got three young boys and is full mama bear, over protective, whole package, including driving herself nuts in guilty and anxiety over people. If she finds out, she'll blame herself and go mad.”

“Ah, if it isn't a Brother Bear,” Robin joked playfully. “Don't worry Cormoran, in this family we know to be discreet, you can trust me. I understand sometimes the least family knows, the better.”

She spoke in a way that made Strike look immediately, pulling his eyes away from the green landscapes of Yorkshire. There was something in her expression and her voice that called his attention immediately. He was trained to detect, after all, to investigate and notice things no one else saw.

“What are you hiding from them?” he murmured. Robin smiled sadly.

“Last summer, I caught my husband having sex with his secretary, Sarah Shadlock,” she said full of bitter. Strike could tell she wished to talk about it and let it go, and he couldn't help being angry at the bastard. “We separated for a few weeks, but as we were on holiday, no one knew. Then, I forgave him, after he begged for it, but it obviously strained our relationship. I just didn't want to... throw away so many years, you know? We've been together since teenagers and you don't just break a marriage. He promised he'd never sleep with Sarah again and he fired her, said he didn't need a secretary any-more, and we've been doing couple counselling since. You know, I graduated in psychology in St. Andrews, I'm a licensed psychotherapist,” Strike looked surprised. “And yet, it's being so difficult to move on. I still don't let him sleep in my bed, he sleeps in our room's sofa so no one knows we're having problems.”

“I'm sorry, Robin,” said Strike sincerely. He knew what being cheated on felt like. Robin nodded, letting a breath out. “Your husband is a major jerk, you're a wonderful woman, I don't understand what complain could he have to seek somebody else.”

“I love him though,” murmured Robin sadly. Strike nodded.

“You're a good person, Robin. But don't forgive so much you lose yourself to get someone else, even less if that person wouldn't go halfway for you.”

Robin nodded.

“Yes,” she said. “You're right.”

They eventually arrived in Harrogate, and Strike was surprised when Robin woke him up, sniggering in laughter, to find he had fallen asleep. His nose felt full and Robin handled him a pack of tissues so he could clear it.

“Must've gotten a cold,” murmured Strike as they went around the snowed streets. “Can we please not go to many stores? Crutching in the snow is a nightmare.”

“Don't worry,” Robin comforted him. “I thought about that, and we're going to one place where you won't have to bother at all.”

They were welcomed into a fancy big store that Strike had never seen, with open arms. The people knew Robin and they chatted for a minute as Robin told them they were going to be looking for some new clothes and shoes mostly for Strike. Then, they were led into a sofa at a private area by private changing rooms, and were given an Ipad each and offered drinks and chocolates.

As they devoured them, Robin explained him the system; he took the catalogue online, clicked on the elements he was interested in and his size, and a girl named Stephanie would bring them to him to try on. If he didn't like them, wanted a change of size, or something else, he just wanted to tell her or keep using the Ipad. All explained, they set to work. Strike was surprised to find many things at a good place and being his style, and he quickly selected several clothes. His changing room was big and with another sofa, and Stephanie helped him change every time or tied up every shoe that he tried on. Robin, in the meantime, also tried some things and, after just a few hours, they had a few bags each full of things, mostly Strike's things, including several new pairs of shoes. Robin had encouraged him to buy all styles of wear, from pyjamas, to formal, because 'you never know, and we're throwing a party in New Year's', and even though he did spend more money than usual, he was pretty content in the end.

 


	6. And I will beg for forgiveness

As Robin drove back to Masham humming to the radio, Strike felt his throat hoarse and raspy, and a fever creeping, and figured he really was going to get sick. Looking back, it was weird after being hypothermic he hadn't caught a strong cold yet, so he closed his eyes and slept the way back home. As they ate lunch, Robin noticed his paleness.

“Are you alright, Cormoran? You look a bit grim.”

“Uh...” Strike coughed. “Not much... I must be coming down with a cold, not really surprising.”

“Poor thing, we'll give you the family remedy for colds and flu,” said Linda sympathetically. “It never fails.” Strike thought then of his best friend, Doctor Nick Herbert, who was keen on preparing beverages for everything. The thought of him made Strike a bit sad all of the sudden, as he realised Nick was probably ready to strangle him by now.

After drinking a beverage that tasted like troll's mucus 'but that works like magic' as the family had assured, Strike put away in his bedroom the presents they had bought for Lucy, Lucy's husband and children, and also for other people of Strike's family and his best friends, Nick and wife Ilsa Herbert, in London. They had bought envelopes and boxes to send the presents, so Strike entertained himself writing addresses and notes. To his family he wished Merry Christmas and apologised for his absence, explaining he had caught a bad cold and was currently still feeling it, and then he sat in his bedroom's desk looking in despair at the paper in which he had only wrote 'Dear Ilsa and Nick'.

Strike didn't know what to say, and he chastised himself as a wave of coughing took over him for a moment, for not knowing what to tell his best friends. He knew his attitude had been unforgivable. He had been shit to everyone, but those people had opened their house to him, hosted him, and then one day he had simply vanished, leaving a note behind that only stated 'I'm tired of London. I'm leaving, don't look for me. Sorry', ending in his sign, so the police wouldn't look for him. There hadn't been an explanation to the people that had gone to the ends of the world for him, only rudeness. Then, he had never called them, answered their calls or bothered to contact them, until he had lost phone service. He had called Lucy here and there, and his Uncle and Aunt, but for some reason he couldn't manage with his best friends. They knew him better than anyone, and he didn't want them to see him be a failure, didn't want to see their concern, didn't want for them to see past his barriers, and didn't want their help. Strike couldn't fully understand why, but he had just been possessed with a physical and mental urge to leave, had felt his heart hammering and a need to just run, just go away, and just forget the Herberts, and it had affected his friendship the most.

Lost as he was, Strike looked up at the window at his desk, and saw Robin through the window. She was in the far distance, playing catch with _Rowntree._ She would understand. Strike put his coat on and crutched outside, stopping himself to blow his nose every now and then, until he finally made it outside, red from the effort of crutching so much.

“Hi you!” Robin smiled at him. “Wanna play catch?”

“Catch me, in any case,” joked Strike, flopping on a bench nearby after retiring some snow from it with a foot. Robin giggled and threw the ball at the dog, who ran after it. “I was wondering if I could use some of your psychology talent.”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“I don't understand why I did what I did,” Strike blurted out. “And I need to understand it, because I need to write to my friends and I don't even know what to say.”

Robin looked at him with curiosity and nodded, sitting next to him. _Rowntree_ brought her the ball again and she threw it again, breathing into her scarf.

“What happened?” asked Robin with some concern. Strike sighed.

“I uh...” Strike shrugged. “My life was great, Robin. I had it all and then... last Christmas, in Afghanistan, my leg...” Robin nodded. “I had a girlfriend then, a fiancée. Her name's Charlotte. She's bat-shit crazy, completely nuts, that woman, she's a danger to herself and everyone around her. She cheated, she tried to kill herself, wanted for me to always be looking after her, said I didn't love her, then went and fucked someone else, you know? She...” Strike sighed again. “I was so in love with her, I don't think I've moved on yet. But she wasn't good for me. She hated all my friends and family, pushed me away from them, wanted me all for herself, was jealous, was selfish, egocentric, unhealthy... I could go on for hours, really. So after I got my leg blown-off, I was going crazy spending so much time with her, that was after months in the hospital first, and I was really bad, got infections, almost died a few times, I was angry and traumatised and sad and... well, you can imagine, I got a leg blown-off, none of that is easy or simple,” he spoke looking at the dog as he came and went, and Robin listened attentively, looking at him often. “I left Charlotte closely after. I was sick of her games and her cheating and I was going through a lot and she was just making things worse. I never want to see her again, honestly, she's poison... so my best friends offered me a home, because I lived in Charlotte's house. Ilsa Herbert has been my best friend since we were toddlers, her mum and my aunt have been best friends since school, so we grew up together pretty much, best friends, always. Then she married my best male friend since comprehensive, Nick, who was from London, and they live there. They are always there and opened their doors for me.”

“Very nice of them.”

“Yes,” Strike nodded. “I was happy to be with them, but at the same time... I was depressed and with my own shit and things just got darker and darker. I started feeling guilty because they had to do so much effort for me, Nick would help carry me here and there, Ilsa brought me food, everything. I could see their exhaustion and I felt an enormous need to go. I didn't want to be a weight for anyone and I had to run, I just laid in bed one afternoon while they were working outside, Nick's a gastroenterologist and Ilsa a lawyer so, they work a lot, and I felt like I was being prosecuted, like I had an urgent need to leave, I almost felt sick. So I packed my things, left a note asking not to be looked for, and left. Not a call, never replied theirs... I was in contact with everyone, just not with them. I don't understand I... why would I be such a shit person to them, uh?”

Robin looked at him sympathetically and Strike instantly felt more understood. Since it was staring to snow again, they went back inside, and there, the dark dog ran freely to his play room and left them alone.

“Cormoran, I don't think you're so far from the point when you say you felt like you were being prosecuted,” commented Robin casually as they sat in the same sitting room where she had offered him a job. Strike was happy to stop crutching. “It's just the other way around. I think that you saw yourself as the worst thing that could happen to Nick and Ilsa, and felt urgency to protect them from yourself, leave them alone to be happy. You would do anything for their benefit, including erasing yourself from their life if you see yourself as a virus or something. Does that make any sense to you?” Strike listened closely and the pieces came together in his mind. He nodded slowly.

“I'd do anything for them. Anything... we're family. They've been trying to conceive, Lucy just told me Ilsa's finally pregnant, five months now, and I left them six months ago. She's literally gotten pregnant the moment I've left...”

“And that has nothing to do with you, that has just been... nature,” Robin shrugged. “Cormoran, I don't think any of them is furious at you. I think they're hurt, but they'll forgive you. I think they're dying to see you and hug you again, and that they never wanted you out. Also,” Robin added calmly. “I think you weren't ready to go back into civilian life. You weren't ready for a normal house, a normal life... you were ripped out of Afghanistan, and it's tremendously shocking to go back somewhere and it doesn't feel like home. I think your mind might've also gone nuts from not feeling at home, not knowing where to go, you were where it was supposed to feel homey and you just felt like a weight for someone, an intruder, like you didn't belong and you could only screw people around... and you got the tremendous urge to find someone to call home, somewhere where you belong, where you don't feel you're bothering anyone, somewhere far away to start over, to make it feel nice. What you've done is less crazy than you'd think.”

“It makes sense, what you say,” said Strike, nodding. “It all just came together and became too much, right?”

“Yeah,” Robin nodded in agreement. “Cormoran, the first person who has to forgive you is yourself. It's been a crazy year and you'll be dealing with these difficult things for a long time, maybe for the rest of your life. Don't pressure yourself.”

Back in his bedroom, Strike sat down at his desk with his mind clearer, and took a few sheets of paper and a pen.

_Dear Ilsa and Nick,_

_Congrats on the baby! Lucy informed me and I'm thrilled for you. I hope you like these presents, I had a friend help me find something for the baby. I know you've been dying for one and I'm sure you're going to be the best parents. I hope everything else is going well, and you're having a good time with your families this last Christmas before you're one more in the house. I do think often of you, believe it or not, and this isn't the first time I sit down to try and put some words out, but you know I suck with words and have never managed to make it through._

_Now I live in Masham, North Yorkshire. I rent a room to the Ellacott family, they're some wonderful people who have this enormous house, as they've gotten rich through a business of farm and teaching people how to ride a horse. Apparently that's the way to succeed in North Yorkshire. I now deal with their account book, organising their finances. I know is not a job that fits me much, but I'm liking it so far, and it gives me the chance to rest the leg and work whenever I feel like it. Plus, the Ellacotts are amazing, so it's an honour to work for them. Hopefully you can come to visit soon, it's beautiful up here with the snow and all, and I bet when spring comes is going to be absolutely stunning. It's a lot like Cornwall actually, just without the ocean and with far more waterfalls, horses and trees. People is also very kind in general. It's doing me some good to be outside London, here the stars are visible in the sky, millions of them, and the air is clear and the oxygen a bit more pure. I guess is an ideal place for someone on recovery._

_I'm very sorry for all I've done to you. I'm sorry I left, I'm sorry my note was shit, I'm sorry I didn't say a thing, I'm sorry I ignored you and shut you out. I promise I will call soon, as soon as a cold I'm dealing with passes completely. Hell, maybe I'll even visit. Now I'm being well paid, I have money for a hundred visits to London. I know I have no excuse and I can't really reason why I behaved the way I did, but I regret it, and I want things to change. I can only tell you that this year has kicked my butt thoroughly to the point where I haven't wanted to be near anyone, I've only met the Ellacotts days ago, but until then, I simply rejected social life. I didn't feel at home anywhere, I kept trying to change location, find somewhere that felt right... and nowhere did. All these months, I haven't found a place where I was at peace. At times, I even missed Afghanistan. I've hated my lack of leg, my lack of money, my difficulties to find jobs according to my needs, and I've hated England for not feeling the way it used to feel. For no longer being my safe place, my home... but now, I think it all has changed. I think I'm going to be okay here, with this job. I'll start over now, in a life without army, without Charlotte, without leg, and even if the changes are many and sometimes very overwhelming, I think I now am at the place where I needed to be to face things differently. In London, my past just kept winking at me and reminding me things will never be the same, becoming asphyxiating and disturbing; here, it's all new and fresh, and I can write a new book._

_I just wish I had known how to do things without fucking it all up with you._

_I hope you can forgive me. I miss you, and I will be in touch._

_Hugs,_

_Cormoran xoxo_

 


	7. Cared for and comeback

During the night, the temperatures dropped drastically, but in the house they had the heater on, so there was no problem. Strike, however, fevered and shivered through the night, clouded with nightmares of his time in Afghanistan, ghostly appearances of Charlotte, and his time as a homeless. He coughed all night so Strike barely slept and when the sun rose, he couldn't bring himself to leave the bed. He felt weak and could hardly stop coughing, although his nose had cleared out.

Robin woke him up what seemed like a very short time after sunrise but, for the smell he perceived as his eyes opened, was probably lunch time.

“Hey,” said Robin very softly, sitting on the verge of the bed and stroking his shoulder as he snuggled further. “It's lunch time.” Strike groaned, closing his eyes. “Did your cold worsen?”

“Yeah,” murmured Strike, before a fit of coughing took over, which made him groan as he felt pain in the chest as if his lungs were about to jump through his mouth. He then sighed in relief as Robin's soft hand pressed against his forehead.

“You've got a fever,” Robin pursed her lips in concentration and her eyebrows furrowed in worry. “I'll call the doctor.”

“No...” Strike cried out. Robin smiled empathetically and tucked him in bed.

“You stay here, we'll bring him here,” said Robin getting up. “I'll bring you some food as well. The sooner Dr Flanagan sees you, the sooner you'll feel better, he's very good.”

Strike fell asleep and was woken up again when Robin brought him some warm soup and feed it to his mouth. He was barely awake to feel embarrassed.

“Those coughs sound very ugly,” admitted Michael, Robin's dad, as he guided Dr. Flanagan inside. Strike looked up to see a gray-haired plump and short man with big hands and pink cheeks, glasses on, entering the room.

“Hello Mr Strike,” said the plump man with a big smile, putting his briefcase on the night-stand “I'm Doctor Neill Flanagan I heard you're feeling unwell.” Strike coughed in response. “Yeah... well, why don't everyone get out for a moment so I can examine him?”

Robin, her parents and Molly waited outside the door until Dr Flanagan let them in again. Strike readjusted his t-shirt and tucked himself in bed again, closing his eyes and not caring much about what happened around him.

“Verdict?” Robin questioned.

“Pneumonia,” the doctor said. “His immune system is pretty weak and got a virus. It's normal for someone who's been a homeless and who had hypothermia to have a weak immune system, he's got to rest, take these meds,” he said as he scribbled in a receipt notebook, “and just wait, stay warm and cosy. Change the sheets daily if possible so they're clean every day.”

Robin's parents accompanied the doctor to his truck and Robin shopped for the meds online while keeping an eye on Strike, who slept the rest of the day, until at night, yelling woke him up. He opened his eyes and groaned, blinking himself awake. A coughing fit escaped his lips and he sat up, listening. The shouting seemed to come from the kitchen nearby.

“...you're always with him, and then you don't want me in your bed, what sense does it make that I'm here?” it seemed like Matthew's voice. “I'd be better off in London, you're probably screwing him anyway!”

“You bloody hypocrite!” Robin's voice came up. “As far as I'm concerned, the only cheater in this marriage is you!”

“Oh yeah? Then what do you two do together for hours?! Going shopping! Ha! Bet you went far so you could...” the hand against cheek made a noise audible from Strike's bed. “Crazy bitch! I didn't even say anything!”

“You were going to! There is nothing between Cormoran and I, I married you!” shouted Robin.

“What for? You don't want me with you anyway!”

“Excuse me if I'm having a hard time getting over what you've done!”

“Oh for fuck's sakes, let it go!”

Strike had heard enough. He got up using his crutches and crutched outside. Everyone slept upstairs, which explained why the couple had chosen to go downstairs, probably thinking he'd be too sickly asleep to hear. His coughing was enough to alert the marriage he was coming, and Strike heard the discussion come to a stop as Strike approached the kitchen. Then he opened the door and pretended to be surprised upon seeing Matthew and Robin, standing by the kitchen island, both flustered.

“Oh, hi,” said Strike. “I'm just going to...” he gestured to the water tap in the fridge.

“Of course,” Robin smiled. “Let me get it for you,” Robin rushed to grab a glass from the cabinets and filled it for Strike, handing it to him as he sat on a stool to have his hands free. “How are you feeling?” she added caring as Strike put the glass down after drinking its contents.

“Sick,” replied Strike sincerely, eyeing Matthew, who ignored them and pretended to be checking the curtains. “Oh and Matthew...” he added after a moment of thought, getting up in his crutches. “You should know I was a boxer, and if I ever hear someone insult your wife, I won't hesitate to break their nose. Doesn't matter who they are.”

“Excuse me?” Matthew looked at him with a frown, standing like an offended cat, and Robin looked mortified. Strike forced a smile.

“Oh, but I'm not one to have to excuse you, I'm just a guess,” commented Strike, satisfied seeing Matthew grow angrier.

“That comment had double meaning. You were threatening me,” Matthew stated.

“I'm sure he was just...” intervened Robin.

“He was threatening me.”

“I don't know why you'd think so,” Strike frowned, pretending to be confusing. “I'm sick and feverish, it wouldn't be wise to threaten you now, specially not when you're my host's husband. I'm just saying because I can imagine as her husband, with her past, you probably worry about her a lot, but you don't have to worry. I have her back. I don't know why I said it now, I'm sick,” Strike faked a giggle, acting innocently. “Well, goodnight you two, sleep well.”

“You too, Cormoran,” Robin walked him outside and stopped him by the door. Shyly, she murmured: “Thank you.” Strike nodded.

“Night.”

In the morning, Strike wasn't feeling much better, but made an effort to eat by himself when Robin brought him a tray with breakfast. As he ate between cough fits, Robin informed him she had gone to send his packages to his friends and family the day before while he slept, as he had left them ready. She had also gotten her brother to handle his issues with his phone company and hire a new service for him so he could use his mobile again. He thanked her and observed as she looked nervous.

“Hey,” said Strike in the end, putting his fork down. His voice was raspy from coughing so much. “I didn't hear so much last night. I'm not going to intrude, don't worry.”

“No, it's not...” Robin sighed. “I'm sorry we woke you up, I didn't realise we were shouting so much... it won't happen again.”

“Don't worry about that. Are you okay though? You sounded very angry.”

“I was, but now it's okay. You know we have problems, we fight often now... but counselling helps. In a few days the holidays will end and we'll go back to London and to counselling, and it'll be alright.”

Strike nodded.

“I'll miss you.” He murmured. Robin smiled.

“Me too,” she admitted. “Actually... I was thinking, since you can work from anywhere and your family and friends are all in London... why don't you come back with me? You can stay at my place, it's pretty nice too, you'll have your own room, your own bathroom, all commodities, just like here...”

“I don't care about commodities,” Strike chuckled at her before coughing into a napkin.

“I know,” Robin nodded, rolling eyes. “I'm just saying, you should come with us. It'll be fun and it's not as cold and snowy as Masham. I know you might think this place is cool, but believe me, there isn't so much for an action guy like you.”

“Robin...” Strike sighed, leaning back against the pillows. His eyes fixed on the duvet. “I don't think I'm ready to go back. What if I feel shitty again and run away?”

“I'll be there,” said Robin. “I can help...”

“I know, but I've had people there helping before,” said Strike. “And I still freaked out. I don't know, Robin... You have a good offer, maybe I'll take it. First I have to recover though.”

“Of course,” Robin smiled optimistic. “I'm not going back until I see you up and partying anyway, Matt can go whenever he needs to. On another topic, I know you're sick but the New Year's Eve party we're hosting is going to be celebrated here. It's a big place, we'll make sure is in the opposite corner where you can't be bothered, if you're still feeling too bad, but, do you think we could invite your people? I was thinking that perhaps, being here... it's nobody's land, right? Maybe it's a good place to fix your relationships.”

Strike observed attentively, balancing his options in his mind.

“Uh...” Strike nodded slowly. “They probably made plans already but... sure, why not. We can't fight at a party.”

“You surely can't,” Robin looked satisfied. “I can call them for you, since you're unwell. I was thinking, we should call fast so they had time to sort their options out.”

“You're right, don't worry, I can call them right now. Let's rip the bandage, right? I'll tell my sister, she's married and has three little boys and... Nick and Ilsa, if that's okay?”

“Perfect,” Robin chuckled. “Tell them not to worry about rooms, we have space enough. Our family has always been huge, so when my grandpa got this house to be built, he made sure it had plenty of rooms to bring everyone and friends over. He was a big family guy.” Strike nodded. “They'll have their rooms and bathrooms. Can the kids sleep in one, though? I'm not sure we have _that_ many rooms available. And they can come any day they want, we'd love to meet them!”

“Yes, they do it all the time. Well thank you very much.”

When Robin left with his tray of food, Strike pulled his mobile and got comfortable in bed before calling Lucy.

“Stick!” Lucy's cheerful voice came up not two rings later. “How nice to hear your voice again?”

“Same,” Strike closed his eyes, feeling his fever come up again.

“Oh,” Lucy's tone went down. “Are you okay?”

“My cold turned out to be pneumonia. Saw the doc yesterday.”

“Shit!”

“That mouth! Your boys better be distracted...”

“They're fine — fuck, Stick, is it so bad?”

“Nah, I'm being consented and cared for, everyone's been great. Lost a bunch of weight though, but these people feed me to the mouth, so I have no excuses, will be back in track soon with this care,” Strike figured if his people was coming, then he better put the blame of his weight loss entirely in his illness. “Listen, Lucy, I have a proposition for you, for New Years'.”

“That sounds great, I'm glad! Sure, what's the proposition?”

“The Ellacotts are hosting a New Year's Eve party, for family and friends. They encouraged me to invite anyone I wanted, that there are rooms here for everyone. So, would you, Greg and the kids want to come? I'm also going to invite Nick and Ilsa. I think there'll be more kids, I know some of Robin's friends have children.”

“Oh!” Lucy sounded delighted. High-society parties were her thing. “Sure, we were going to a party of one of Greg's friends, but I'm sure he won't mind. When should we get there?”

“Anytime you want. Rooms will be ready, and bathrooms. And I'll try my best to be perfectly fine soon.”

“That's great!” said Lucy excitedly. “Well give me a couple days to sort things out here and we'll be right there. For how many days should I pack?”

“Doesn't matter, they're just super excited about having people over... Well,” coughs. “Robin is. You're going to love her, she's an angel.”

“Oh, someone really likes her,” Lucy teased. Strike rolled eyes.

“She's also Mrs Cunliffe.”

“Oh.”

“Yes...” Strike coughed again. “Well, I'll leave you and call Nick and Ilsa. Wish me luck!”

“Good luck, love you!”

“You too, drive safe, it's all full of snow!”

The call ended and Strike sighed, looking at his contact list. He decided he was always better with women and prepared to hear Ilsa's voice after six months. To his surprise, suddenly Ilsa was calling him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't updated in a while any of my stories, but truth is the lack of reviews makes me think no one cares if I update this or not so I figure why lose my time grabbing the laptop and updating when I could be doing other stuff? I truly do enjoy writing and for me, I get the same joy even if I don't publish. The entire fic is written, I already had joy with it, publishing is only to share it if people like it.
> 
> Finally I've decided to put up this chapter, but I've decided I won't publish any other of this story unless I get 5 reviews, and that way I can filter and don't lose time updating stories that don't interest much in favour of updating more often those that do get petitions for more chapters. After all, a writer doesn't publish another book of a saga if the one before is not bought. This will go on until this story ends, if you get to see the end. This is not out of anger or anything, not really, but I think us fanfic writers need to have some pride, you know? I think we work very hard to create aditional content, and if no one cares we're equally happy writing it for ourselves and don't losing time putting it up online only so someone can steal the work (which happens very often) but we get 0 credit.


	8. Calling home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPECIAL THANK YOU AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS TO: Roza_VA_Belikov, Nessa_Val, Zolena and GinnyW1981. Your comments lift me up and keep bringing chapters in. I can't express my gratitude! Love you.
> 
> The current priorities for updating are:  
> \- The cormorant and the robin – 8 comments in last chapter.  
> \- The daughter – 5 comments in last chapter.  
> \- Where we stand together – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 5,45 comments by chapter.  
> \- To be continued – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 2,04 comments by chapter.  
> \- I will light a fire – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 1,85 comments by chapter.
> 
> THESE STORIES WILL CONTINUE BEING UPDATED for now. At any point, one of them may move to the black list. All I demand for me to publish another chapter of a story is to get at least 6 comments after a new chapter. If this happens, a new episode will come. With this new order, I expect all these five stories will be fully published before the year ends. Therefore there'll be approximately two stories being updated daily until the year ends, or every couple days.
> 
> When will new stories be updated? I've got right now four stories waiting to come to AO. Where we stand together part 2 and I will light a fire part 2 are two of them, the other two are completely new and unrelated. If all goes well, they will arrive in January.
> 
> THANK YOU

“Hello, Ilsa. You're not going to believe this, I was about to call you!” said Strike excitedly onto the phone. Frowning at the silence, he worried. “Ilsa?”

“Oggy?” Ilsa's voice came softly, as if afraid he'll disappear if she spoke too loud.

“Yes,” Strike smiled, looking at the ceiling. “Yes, it's me. Fuck, I missed your voice.” He recognised.

“Are you going again?” Strike realised she was half-crying silently. He understood his question, hiding 'is this going to be the last we speak?' 'is this it?'.

“No,” promised Strike. “No. I was actually hoping I could see you both soon... we have to celebrate that baby, right? Congratulations.” He added sincerely. Ilsa chocked back a sob.

“Oh, Oggy...” Ilsa sniffled. “Shit, we just got your package. It was beautiful, thank you very much. We'll definitely be using all those onesies.” She sniffled again.

“You got it already?” Strike was surprised. “Robin must've sent them in the fast lane... So, how are you? How's it going over there?”

Ilsa spoke for a while. Nick had gotten a promotion, she had won some big cases, they had finished the nursery recently. She was 'very fat', the baby kicked a lot, London was cold and everyone was okay and healthy, excited about the arrival. Apparently, it was a girl.

“And you?” Ilsa added in the end. Strike, who had started to doze off relaxed by her soft voice, smiled to himself.

Then he told her about his new job, the Ellacotts, Robin, _Rowntree_ , the house, his pneumonia, the food, the snow. He omitted all those months previous to the Ellacotts. She was excited about the party as well, when he got to that part.

“So you didn't go to Cornwall?” asked Strike.

“No, uh,” Strike heard Ilsa accommodate in what sounded like their sofa. “I had a trial right before Christmas, so I said to Nick, 'let's just stay with your family this year, and we'll go down when the baby's born'. We were there recently in the summer anyway.”

“Good,” said Strike. It seemed as their old friendship had picked up where they left it, as if nothing had happened, like it had occurred time after time when Strike came and went to Cornwall through his childhood full of travelling here and there, following his mother's music career. “Then you think you can come?”

“Sure!” Ilsa sounded optimistic. “I'm bored here all day, since it's cold outside, and Nick is on call these days so he's not here much. I'll convince him.”

“Perfect! And how about Nick, is he very mad?”

“He's...” Strike heard Ilsa thinking, practically. “He prefers not talking about you nor thinking of you. He said he tried enough and now we're getting what we always wanted and he's not going to let you ruin his happiness, so I'd say he's still pretty hurt and pretty offended.”

“Yeah, I figured...” Strike nodded slowly. “I fucked up big time, didn't I?”

“It's just... he's a doctor, Oggy. He spent weeks blaming himself, saying he should've seen the signs, that he should've helped you, that if he had been more attentive, you would've been okay. He took it all upon himself and then I told him to stop it, because he's just a gastroenterologist and he did all he could, that he's not some God and that he didn't take your leg.”

“Well said,” Strike approved. “So you think there's a chance?”

“He wants me to pass the phone to him so...” Ilsa chuckled. “I'll see you soon. Take care of that pneumonia, will you?”

“Sure, you take care of that pregnancy,” Strike smiled, even if she couldn't see it through the phone. “Can't wait to see you.”

“Me too. Love you.”

“Me too,” Strike held his breath as the phone was passed to Nick.

“Oggy?” Nick's voice came.

“Hi,” said Strike nervously.

“You're a fucking jerk, did you know?” Nick blurted out. Strike chuckled. “You're a jackass, a tosser, a wanker, and that's not how you treat your friends, you deserve me to kick your butt back to Afghanistan. Hell, I should go find you and knock you out, you have any idea how worried we've been? How anxious? How many sleepless nights?”

“Are you still talking about me, or did your baby reach the teenage years already?” teased Strike. Nick let a breath out and Strike wasn't sure if he had puffed or sobbed.

“I hate you,” murmured Nick. “You're a piece of crap and I hope karma's kicked your arse thoroughly.” Strike could tell he didn't mean it. “Also... there's an Arsenal vs Spurs soon, come and we can yell at the TV together.”

“Nick...” Strike sighed. “Put me in speaker, I'm not saying this twice,” he added, holding back a cough.

“Done.”

“Guys, Nick's right. I'm... I'm an awful friend, more than anything else. I'm a liar, I'm an arsehole, I'm... shit. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry... I just wish I could go back and do things differently. I would've never dated Charlotte, I would've quit the army before losing the leg, and I would've invited you to far more dinners,” said Strike with firmness. “I should've never left without a proper explanation, without a proper goodbye, but I don't think in that moment I understood why I really had to go, but now I do. I know I needed help, yes, but I also couldn't be in London, and honestly I have no idea when I'll be able to come back without being a grumpy arsehole and running again. I'm okay now. I'm fine,” coughs. “Well, almost perfectly fine. And I want you to come and have fun, I want to make things right again... hell, we'll watch that game on Skype or something, of course. I just want for things to be better soon. I'm very sorry for what I've done, and I want to be that girl's uncle. Can't promise I'll babysit, okay? But you know... I'll be there. I'm not disappearing again.”

“That's all we ask, mate.” Sentenced Nick.

After the conversation, that ran a little longer, and after making sure his friends would come to the New Year's party, Strike slept for a couple hours like a baby who has just been fed, content and cosy in his enormous bed, feeling better thanks to a good dose of medicines and the gentle affection of his friends, their voices still ringing in his ears.

As he felt better when he woke up, Strike decided to get dressed and go walk a little in his crutches, stretch his body a bit. He walked around the house, that was quiet at those hours, as the service focused on preparing lunch and the house's habitants went out or stayed sitting somewhere warm not moving much. Strike settled in a small sitting room with Great Expectation's, and was just reading about the young Pip stealing from his older sister when the door opened suddenly and Matthew Cunliffe, Robin's husband, appeared, looking unfriendly.

“The maid said you were here,” said Matthew with a serious expression, walking towards him and sitting without waiting for an invitation on the armchair near Strike, who sat on a sofa with a cup of tea in one hand and the book kept open on his lap with the other hand. Strike raised his eyebrows at him, unimpressed.

“Yes I am,” after that short sentence, Strike focused on his reading again.

“You don't get to just grab any books you plea...”

“Robin _and_ Molly both encouraged me to grab any book I want to read. Molly said I would love her Charles Dickens' collection and so far, she's about right,” Strike interrupted without looking at him. “However if now you're the librarian, maybe you should check your duties with the family more often so you don't get misinformed.”

That was like a slap for Matthew, who straightened in his seat, clenched his jaw, and furrowed his eyebrows in anger.

“Who do you think you are, speaking to me like this? I am as much as your host as they are...”

“Except that you're not,” Strike interrupted again. “As far as I am concerned I am the Ellacott's administrator, while you are a Cunliffe, which means I don't work for you. Moreover,” Strike added, looking up coldly at him. “You're as much of a guest as I am, as this house belongs to Molly Ellacott and her descendants, which funnily would include your children with Robin, but never you. I will take orders only of those with the Ellacott blood in their veins.” Strike sentenced harshly, feeling his blood boil a little as he remembered the way in which Matthew had spoken to Robin the night before.

Matthew snorted a laugh.

“You're such a stupid man, aren't you?” said Matthew. “I am a businessman. I am rich and powerful, enough to make your life miserable. The family has known me since Robin and I met in kindergarten, our families holiday together, we are one family and we love each other. My word against you will always win, if I wanted I could convince them to kick you out. You are forced to respect me, because one word from me and you'll be out in the street.”

“Believe me, Matthew,” Strike turned a page of his book and went back to read. “I am not afraid of you. I've got nothing, absolutely nothing; I don't even own a laptop. Being back on the street wouldn't mean such a trauma. I'm going to clear something out for you,” Strike closed the book, put it aside, and looked serious at Matthew. “I am my own free human being, I am a man of law and order, a veteran, and I will only respect those who earn it, no matter their titles. I won't bend under threats, I won't sell my soul for money, I won't submit to those I consider absolute jackasses. I respect every Ellacott not because I work for them, but because they're incredible people worth of every ounce of respect, but you don't deserve my respect and you won't get it. If you want to go, lie and get me kicked out, go ahead,” added Strike. “But next time you raise your voice towards Robin, say anything remotely offensive to anyone of her family, or behave like the arsehole you are towards them, I won't hesitate. I won't be the nice gentleman I was last night and I won't give a shit about the consequences. You can get me jailed, but I will go down with great satisfaction because no one will jail me without your nose breaking under my fist. I've killed terrorists and inhuman monsters, you are no threat. Are we clear now?”

Matthew stood up, livid, and looked at him as if he could just murder him with his eyes.

“You will regret this.” Matthew said, leaving the room.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The current priorities for updating are:  
> \- The cormorant and the robin – 8 comments in last chapter.  
> \- The daughter – 5 comments in last chapter.  
> \- Where we stand together – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 5,45 comments by chapter.  
> \- To be continued – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 2,04 comments by chapter.  
> \- I will light a fire – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 1,85 comments by chapter.
> 
> THESE STORIES WILL CONTINUE BEING UPDATED for now. At any point, one of them may move to the black list. All I demand for me to publish another chapter of a story is to get at least 6 comments after a new chapter. If this happens, a new episode will come. With this new order, I expect all these five stories will be fully published before the year ends. Therefore there'll be approximately two stories being updated daily until the year ends, or every couple days.
> 
> When will new stories be updated? I've got right now four stories waiting to come to AO. Where we stand together part 2 and I will light a fire part 2 are two of them, the other two are completely new and unrelated. If all goes well, they will arrive in January.
> 
> THANK YOU


	9. Extinguished

When lunchtime came, Strike's fever was back up slightly, but he encouraged himself to go have lunch with the rest of the family, who were pleased to have Strike back, all except Matthew. They lovingly asked about his health, the books he had started reading, and his family and friends, and Strike happily announced everyone would be coming to the party and were thrilled to meet the Ellacotts soon.

“It'll be lovely to meet them too,” said Linda cheerfully as she ate. “You speak so nicely of them!”

“They're some of the best people I know, Linda, I assure you,” said Strike with a smile, despite his sick-looking face. “Nick knows every way of making one feel like a new person through the stomach, and Ilsa is the smartest person I've ever known, she's a wicked genius.”

“Everything alright, sister?” asked Stephen, eyeing his little sister as he sat next to his wife. Robin had limited her words during lunch and looked unusually serious and detached from the conversation, sitting next to Matthew.

“She's alright,” said Matthew, smiling as he put an arm around Robin. Strike looked at them suspiciously. “She's just tired, aren't you, honey?”

Robin looked at Matthew clenching her teeth and put her fork down.

“Actually, I've got a headache, so I better go to bed,” said Robin, getting up. “I'll see you later.”

“I'll accompany you to the stairs,” suggested Strike, moving to fetch his crutches.

“I'd rather not, thanks,” murmured Robin, and left the room. Molly frowned and looked at Strike.

“Did you fight?” Molly asked. Strike, who was also frowning, shook his head.

“Not at all, I haven't seen her since breakfast,” said Strike sincerely.

“I'll go check on her,” Linda got up and left to fetch her daughter. Michael looked at Matthew.

“Everything alright?” asked Michael with seriousness. Matthew shrugged and smiled gently.

“She's on her time of the month,” replied Matthew. “That always makes them unstable.”

“Unstable?” Strike almost laughed. “She's not on her time.”

“Which you'd know because...” Matthew commented.

“Because she's drank half a cup of wine, and the other day when she was in her time she rejected it because she said she got dizzy if she drank alcohol on her period,” reasoned Strike, who was always very observant, even if he hadn't been there for too long. “Also, she clenched her jaw when you spoke in her name, which is an universal sign of being pissed off, and given the way I heard you speak to her last night, it's not strange that she's pissed off.”

Strike didn't mean to reveal anything about that night, he had promised himself not to, but looking at Matthew made him angry, and thus he said more than he had initially intended. Michael frowned so deeply he could've hurt himself, and glared at Matthew.

“What have you done?”

“I did nothing,” Matthew was starting to get pissed off. “It was simply a normal discussion of a married couple. Perhaps you should mind your own business, Cormoran.” Matthew said with resentment.

“I would if your business didn't splash me all the time.” Strike retorted.

“Gentlemen, please,” Molly intervened, peacemaker. “So it seems that my granddaughter is still offended by such discussion, well, that's okay, it's your business, not ours,” Matthew looked triumphant. “However, Matthew, darling, please go and make amends with her. I don't want for my Robin to struggle through her holidays.”

“Of course,” Matthew stood up, and after smirking at Strike's bulldog expression, he left. Then Molly looked at Strike.

“If you heard something important, you'd tell us, right, dear?” added Molly. Strike's eyebrows rose in surprise and he nodded.

“Sure.”

Strike tried his best to find Robin the moment he was done with lunch, but she seemed to disappear until the evening. As Strike left his bedroom after another long nap, he found the young woman in the kitchen, talking with the chefs. The chefs were just leaving when Strike made it inside.

“Hi,” said Strike smiling at Robin, who still looked moody. “Everything alright?”

“Yes,” Robin nodded, entertaining herself organising a cupboard. “Everything has been arranged for your family.”

“They'll be here soon, probably tomorrow,” Robin nodded again, without looking at him, and Strike felt uncomfortable. She seemed upset towards him, but Strike couldn't remember having done anything wrong. “Robin, quit this act. What's got you so moody?”

“Well,” Robin smiled bitterly, turning around to glare at him. “Between my husband and you, one can't really be cheerful, right?”

“What have I done?” asked Strike, confused.

“I heard you with Matthew in the library,” snapped Robin. Strike looked serious at her. “I saw you in there and I was going to say hi, but you seemed so concentrated in your book, I didn't want to bother you. So I saw Matthew come in, and hid behind a bookshelf. I know it's not okay to eavesdrop, but I wanted to check in case Matthew was rude with you, because I know he can be a royal arsehole at times, which he was,” Robin admitted, clenching her teeth. “But I already dealt with him. I expected more of you, Cormoran.”

“Oh, I didn't know I was supposed to be nice with a jackass,” said Strike full of sarcasm. “I'm sorry Robin but I give each what they deserve. If he's a royal wanker, then I'll be ready to fight back, verbally. The fact that he's in one piece tells you I'm already being nicer than he deserves.”

“I'm sick of you men fighting everything with fists,” said Robin angrily. “I've spoken to Matthew and from now on he'll make sure to be polite and respectful, because otherwise he will respond to me. But, from now on, I will demand the same from you because if I ever hear you speak to him the way I heard you, you'll be out in the street so fast you won't have time to tie your shoelaces,” Robin spoke so coldly and harshly, it surprised Strike, who looked at her with a mixture of hurt and anger. “Don't forget,” Robin added, looking away, as if she couldn't look at him in the eyes, “you're an employee and he is my husband. He might not be an Ellacott, but I am Robin Cunliffe, not Ellacott, and therefore he will get the same level of respect I get. He is your superior and you will answer to him as much as you answer to me, because he is a member of this family and this house is the family's. We are so kind to invite you to stay, but I won't tolerate my husband being disrespected, even when he deserves it. Next time he's a tosser, you bite your tongue and go straight to me and I will deal with him, that's the best way for you to stay in the safe side of things and don't get splattered with his shit. You will bite your tongue because he is your superior, and then you will go to me, because I am the one who has to put him in place, not you.”

Before Strike could answer, Robin had already left, leaving him speechless and frozen in place.

Strike fought with an urge to quit and leave the rest of the day, lying in bed as he tried to feel better before his people arrived, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it, even if he wasn't so comfortable anymore. Thing was, his family and friends had been so excited and happy for him, Strike couldn't bring himself to tell them he was quitting because his boss was pissed at him. He just had to fix the situation somehow.

Despite such resolve, Strike still decided to stay in his room the rest of the day and didn't go to the dining room for dinner. One, he wasn't hungry, two, he didn't want to see anyone, and three, he was feeling sicker once again and would rather stay in bed. The next day, after taking a shower and eating a muffin he fetched from the kitchen, Strike lied on his bed once again, and turned the TV on. Strike had felt so comfortable at first, but ever since the argument with Robin, he was sunk in a feeling that he may not be so welcomed any longer, that he was just an employee and this wasn't his house and he had to stay in his place.

So he was halfway through an episode of BBC's Musketeers, when there was a knock on the wooden door and Robin opened it, looking guilty at him. Strike turned the TV off immediately and stood up in his crutches, decided to keep his place as an employee. He felt the problem wouldn't have happened if he hadn't seen Robin as a friend and had reminded himself he was an employee and he had to behave as such. Robin was immediately shocked by his obvious change of behaviour, as he stood despite his illness and leg, making the effort to remain with his crutches, just because she was there, like a soldier who had been caught watching TV by a Sergeant.

“Need anything, Mrs Cunliffe?” asked Strike, further shocking Robin.

“What?” Robin asked, confused. “Please sit down,” Strike did as he was told with seriousness. “What is this about?”

“I don't understand what you're talking about, ma'am,” replied Strike with military strictness.

“Don't speak to me like that, we're friends, you always call me Robin,” said Robin, frowning. “Such formalities aren't necessary.”

“I'm afraid they are, ma'am,” said Strike. “We can't be boss and employee and still friends. Friends are in the same level, with the slight difference when one's a host and one's a guest, that means that the guest needs to make sure to treat the host's house nicely. But yesterday you left it pretty clear that I am an employee, and I'm afraid I can't do both, because it will only led to more confusion and trouble, ma'am. I appreciate my job and I won't lose it, and the best way to have my place in this house crystal clear is being strictly an employee. You're my superior, my boss, and that's how I will see you.”

Robin stood stupefied as if she had been slapped.

“So that's why you've been here,” said Robin slowly, sinking on Strike's room's armchair. “I came here because I haven't seen you since our talk last night and Heather said you weren't hungry last night nor this morning, I was worried...” Robin murmured. Heather was the house's chief of service. “You were avoiding me.”

“Actually,” Strike started. “I do have pneumonia and I'm still unwell. I was hoping staying in bed would help me be back on my foot,” he said without a joking tone nor a chuckle, “as soon as possible.”

Robin nodded slowly, not knowing what to say.

“Cormoran...” Robin looked about to cry all of the sudden, but Strike just stared at her serious, like a stone, as he had learned in the military. “Cormoran, I don't want our friendship to break just because... I'm sorry if I crossed the line, I know I was too harsh, I'm sorry, I just... he's my husband, I need to stand up for him sometimes, I can't always be nice... I'm...”

“Mrs Cunliffe, please, you have nothing to apologise for,” said Strike. A cough interrupted him and he grunted into his biceps as he covered his mouth with it, feeling a sting of pain from his lungs. “I was out of place with your husband and I will apologise as soon as I feel better. I wouldn't want to make him sick as well. You did the right thing.”

“I don't want us to stop being friends...” Robin said with glassy eyes. “You're not just an employee for me.”

“I'm sorry, Mrs Cunliffe, but I think we need to remember who each of us is,” said Strike. “I am a veteran, now homeless man, who doesn't have a penny and who would be dead if it wasn't for you. You are a rich business woman and human resources psychologist who has been so very kind to host me and care for me, and I could not be more thankful. I didn't come here to disrupt your marriage, I work for you, I serve you, and we cannot be friends, because if we are, you cannot be my superior, and if you aren't, nothing will stop me from breaking your husband's nose. And that cannot happen either, because it would ruin our friendship too and get me in prison. This is the best way for us to not lose each other completely.”

“Why do you have to be so rough with him? What's he done to you aside from being a jerk?” asked Robin softly, her voice a bare whisper. “You could just ignore him...”

“Mrs Cunliffe,” Strike gave Robin a meaningful look. “It's not what he's done to me, it's what he does to you. He takes the smile from your face and the happiness from your eyes. He shouts at you, he's been unfaithful, and he's uncaring. What kind of friend would I be if I smiled at him and was nice when he's awful with you, who deserve only the best?” he blushed hard and Robin looked down. “Being your friend means nothing will hold me down from protecting my friends, but you would kill me if I hurt him and I would kill him if he hurt you. Being your employee means no matter how any of you act, I will stay in my place because I'm just an employee.”

Robin looked at him sadly and finally nodded, after staying in silence for a moment.

“I wish you two would get along.”

“Me too.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Robin had an idea.

“Your family aren't my employees,” said Robin all of the sudden. “Can you not be either while they're here? Can you just be... my friend while they're here?”

“But what if Matthew mistreats you and I cannot keep myself in place?” Robin shrugged.

“Can you make the effort for just a few days?” begged Robin. Strike sighed.

“I will.”

 

 


	10. The thief

Strike's sister Lucy arrived with her family, Nick and Ilsa for dinner the day before the party, after having been driving the entire day. By then, Strike was feeling better, and he was quick to hug everyone and make introductions. Matthew was on a work trip to York, so he wasn't to be back home until the next day in the early morning, which made Strike's mood rise significantly, and the Ellacotts decided to take their guests to one of Masham's best places for dinner, at a restaurant with great views by the river.

“Let's toast,” said Michael happily as he stood by the table holding a cup of white wine. “To family!”

Everyone toasted in agreement, and they sat down for dinner. Strike was happy to be with his people. Lucy looked tired but happy, keeping her three sons, aged five and three years old, and the last one only ten months old, at arms' length alongside her husband, Greg. Ilsa looked younger and very pregnant, cheerful and excited, and Nick's hair had receded a bit more since Strike had last seen him.

Conversation flowed easily as they caught up with their lives, made questions full of curiosity, and laughed with silly jokes and friendly conversation. Strike had almost forgotten the situation with Robin was a bit tense by the time they made it into one of the sitting rooms with some glasses of specially good alcohol Michael had in store, and by the time they all went to bed, very late at night, the environment was easy-going and cheerful, as if it was still Christmas time.

When the time for the party came, the house filled with a big load of people, all old friends of the Ellacotts, from school mates, to University buddies, cousins, friends of friends, neighbours from Masham, etc. The music was loud and Strike was feeling somewhat better from his pneumonia, although he still coughed with some frequency and felt tired easily, but he took the opportunity before the party, when his friends and family went to walk around Masham and do some tourism, to take a long nap, so he was fresh at the party. He put on his nicest suit, a dark three-piece bought with Robin, with a dark-blue silk tie, and tried to look nice despite the clip in his trousers' sleeve and the crutches and the rebellious curls. Robin looked absolutely breathtaking with a tight black dress that sparkled and that hugged her curves, and he couldn't help the jealousy taking over him as he saw her dancing around and laughing with her husband and friends. Matthew might be a royal twat, but he sure had some good moves, and Strike hated his situation from his chair, remembering the days in which he was the king of the dance-floor. After all, Leda had always thought that a man wasn't a man if he didn't know how to take his love out for dance, and she had taught him so well, he had later been Nick and Ilsa's teacher before their wedding.

So there sat Strike, bitter in jealousy, when suddenly Robin rushed to him, mesmerizing and just gorgeous, and beamed at him.

“Having a good time?” she asked happily.

“Let's just say this isn't the worst way to ring the new year,” Strike smiled at her, warmly, sending jolts of electricity through Robin, who blushed and looked aside. He noticed.

“It's so rude of me as a host to not take you out for dance.”

“I can't really dance.”

“Well...” Robin bit her lip as 'To love a woman' started sounding. “Then what if we sit here and get some more drinks uh?”

“Sounds well,” Strike smiled. Robin was already tipsy, he could tell, but she came with two glasses of bourbon and they took look gulps. He was amused seeing the alcohol paint her cheeks pink.

“You should know, Cormoran,” said Robin slurring slightly. “I'm very happy you're here.” Strike chuckled.

“I'm very happy to be here.” Robin nodded and smiled small.

“If you had died that day at the bench,” said Robin. “The world would've lost an incredible person.”

“You're a very good person, Robin.” said Strike then.

“You really think so?” Robin looked surprised, and that stupefied Strike.

“Of course,” Strike shrugged. “Would I lie to you?” Robin blushed.

“My husband doesn't say that often.”

“Your husband is a bit of a prick,” Strike murmured. Robin giggled, taking a long sip of her bourbon, and reached to kiss his cheek, making him blush.

“You're too sweet.” She whispered.

“As if you deserved less...”

The rest of the night passed in flirting and laughing, and Strike couldn't even blame Matthew for the look he directed at them in the early hours of the new day.

It all died in the morning though. Strike and Nick were in the kitchen having breakfast and sniggering as they teased each other about football statistics (Strike was a fan of the Arsenal and Nick of the Spurs, which were two of the London teams that were in constant rivalry), when Robin appeared, with an all too polite salute and a serious expression, looking at Strike.

“Cormoran, I need you to come with me for a moment,” said Robin with seriousness and a tone that gave Strike chills.

“What have you done?” murmured Nick so only Strike could hear him. Strike raised his eyebrows with a confused expression in his face, and followed Robin outside the luxurious kitchen and into a small room Strike had never seen in the ground floor, that had a chimney and a small table with some chairs. Strike wondered why would someone have so many rooms.

“Please sit down,” Robin instructed, pointing to a chair. Strike noticed she had pulled the book he administrated outside its safe in his room and it now was on top of the table. Robin sat across Strike.

“What's going on?” asked Strike, his patience wearing out.

“Did you think we wouldn't notice? Did you think I'm stupid?” snapped Robin all of the sudden. Strike blinked, perplexed, and scowled.

“Of course you're not stupid, what are you talking about?”

“You come here, to my house, we give you money, a job, clothes, food, we give you everything anyone could possibly want, for free, and pay you well,” said Robin with an offended expression. “And you go and steal from us!”

“I haven't stolen a penny!” claimed Strike, indignant.

“Don't you lie to me!” Robin shouted. “I trusted you!”

“Robin—,”

“Just shut up!” Robin pointed to the book. “It's all in there! I've got proof! Return the money and go back to London, or wherever, I don't care. Be thankful I'm not calling the police nor telling the rest of the family.”

Strike let a long sigh out, and looked at her, hurt and utterly confused.

“Robin, I would love to return you the money if I had it.”

“Oh, you spent it?” Robin snorted angrily. “Fine. Get out. With your guests, please.”

“Will you hear me out first, please?”

“I don't want to hear—,”

“I didn't steal from you,” said Strike firmly. “I would never take a penny from you. I can't return the money because I never had it to begin with.”

Robin looked at him sadly and shook her face.

“Please, Cormoran, don't lie anymore. You're only causing more pain.”

“But it's the truth! Show me your proof if you're so sure I stole.”

“Fine,” Robin sighed, shaking her head, and opened the book in one of the last pages. One Strike was sure he hadn't filled, because he hadn't written a word in the book yet, as he had been so sick. In fact, as he examined it, he had to interrupt himself to cough. “There. It's obvious.”

As Strike examined the page, he didn't see the problem at first, and he had to pay close attention to notice that it looked as if Strike had manipulated it to hide some 'donations' that in reality one would think had gone to Strike's pocket. Strike's eyes widened as he noticed that the writings in the book had dissimulated the 'disappearance' of almost two thousand pounds.

“Robin, I didn't do this, I swear. This wasn't me, I haven't even written a word into this book yet!” said Strike, suddenly panicking. Robin felt his fear and misinterpreted it.

“Please, Cormoran, no more lies. You were the only one who had access to this, you and I, and I didn't steal my own money.”

“Robin, please,” Strike reached for her hand, but she put it aside. “Robin, touch my hand, it's still warmer than it should, I'm still feverish, you've seen me. I've been in bed, sick, for days, I could hardly get up, let alone plan all of this and write it in such a smart way so no one would catch me. I'm not even a professional, how could I do this?”

“I don't know how you've managed to fake an illness so well you even show the symptoms for the doctor to diagnose your pneumonia,” said Robin coldly. “But it's a good strategy, if you think about it. Pretend you're sick, then go and...”

“For God's sakes Robin, you have no proof against me!” shouted Strike angrily. “Why would I go against you when my life literally depends on you? You pay my food, my bed, my doctor, my meds, and keep me shielded from the snow! What sense would it make for me to do this?”

“I don't know!” Robin stood up angrily. “Matthew warned me not to help strangers, people from the street, you're greedy, you always want more! I bet that's how you really lost it all!”

“Oh, come on!” Strike puffed. “I can't believe you think I'd do this! Look at my family, my friends! Haven't they told you enough about me for you to fucking trust me for one damned time? I didn't do this, take me to court, I didn't do this.”

Robin scowled.

“Get your stuff and go!”

“You'll have to get my things! I'm not going anywhere!”

“I will call the police if you don't leave!”

“Then you'll have to explain them how you want to kick me out without a proof! Oh!” Strike suddenly had an idea. “I'm calling my lawyer! Ilsa!” Strike stood up in his crutches and rushed outside. “Ilsa Herbert!” he shouted, scaring one of the service workers. “Ilsa! Ilsa!”

“What?” Strike was just entering the kitchen and he almost collided with Ilsa, who was going out to meet him. She had woken up and was apparently having breakfast with her husband and Strike's family.

“I need a lawyer,” Strike breathed out, supporting on his crutches. Ilsa frowned.

“Anything, what happened?”

“Robin wants to kick me out! She says I stole some money, and I didn't do it, and she doesn't believe me and doesn't have proof enough!” said Strike, indignant, red of anger. Ilsa looked surprised. Nick and Lucy's family looked up from the table.

“What?” Lucy walked to them. “She cannot do that... why would she think that?”

“Because someone manipulated the book I work with, but I never even wrote in it, I got sick right when I got the job,” explained Strike.

“Okay, let's just clear this out, it's just a misunderstanding,” said Ilsa calmly, a peacemaker as always.

They went back to were Robin was, and Robin looked at them in seriousness, unbreakable.

“So you're Cormoran's lawyer,” said Robin calmly. Ilsa nodded, sitting down.

“Yes,” Ilsa nodded. “May I please see what you've got against him?” Strike sat next to her. Robin explained Ilsa the same she had explained to Strike, and Ilsa checked the book cautiously. “I see,” said Ilsa after a moment of silence in which she checked the book. “Well, Robin, I'm afraid this is unacceptable. Cormoran's been sick, certified by a doctor, what you're accusing him of is very serious, police involved or not, and it's not fair if you don't have more proof than a suspicion. Someone could've taken your keys or his and acceded to the book, this house is full of people.”

“Only family know where the keys are,” reasoned Robin. “It'd be absurd of any of us to steal from ourselves.”

“And it wouldn't be absurd that Cormoran stole from his friends?” inquired Ilsa. “How did you even notice this?”

“I revise the book regularly,” replied Robin.

“Well, I advice you to call police so they investigate this further, or to investigate further yourself. Ask the family or something,” proposed Ilsa. “Because if you fire Cormoran without more evidence, we will sue you for unfair dismissal.”

“You'll sue _me_?” Robin looked perplexed. Ilsa sighed and nodded.

“I'm sorry Robin, but I've known Cormoran all my life and he's many things, but not a thief,” Strike nodded in agreement. “I'm a lawyer because I despise unfairness. If you're unfair to him, I will fight.”

“Fine,” Robin stood up. “You want war? You'll have it,” she looked at Cormoran. “I'm calling the police.”

 

 

 


	11. Kicking the day

Strike sent his family and Nick to walk around town and enjoy the Christmas decorations and the beauty of Masham while he dealt with the problems at the Ellacott household in company of Ilsa. He insisted that they shall not worry, that everything would be resolved promptly, and that they'd go have some fun and enjoy their holidays. In the meantime, Robin told her family everything with as much detail as she could, and they called the cops to sort things out. The officer came to the household and they all sat around the dining table, where the officer checked all the evidence.

“I'm sorry for the trouble, dear,” said Grandma Molly to Strike with kindness as they sat together. “I personally don't think you'd do something like this, but I hope you understand we have to make sure; we're talking about everything the family has to leave to our descendants.”

“I understand, Molly, don't you worry. I'd just wish some people had your level of trust in me,” said Strike, eyeing Robin across the table. The younger woman looked at him, straightened in her seat, and looked away. She seemed uncomfortable, pissed and sad at once.

“Don't you rub it on her,” Grandma Molly squeezed his arm softly. “She's just caring for her family. She loved her grandpa, she doesn't want his biggest dream to sink now because someone steals. She suffers too, you know?” she murmured privately. “You're her friend.”

“It takes courage to confront your enemies,” Strike nodded. “But far more to confront your friends.” Molly nodded in agreement, smiling small.

“Well,” the officer looked up from the accounting book and pursed his lips, looking at the family. “I personally can't find enough evidence against Mr. Strike or anyone else to perform arrests nor give charges.”

“What?” Matthew inquired, indignant. “But he was the only one with access, aside my wife...”

“As far as I can see, the security was low. This house is full of people, not only free access to a big family from different cities, one of them a banker no less,” he eyed Stephen briefly. “Plus guests and six service workers, including the chef and kitchen workers. Mr. Strike's room is never locked, as all of you have admitted, so anyone who knew where the keys are could've gone in. Many of you have lived here for years, time enough to know where the safe was and where the keys are kept, and the other keys stay in Mr and Mrs Cunliffe's room, which is also never locked. All the service access the rooms frequently too, and plus, the Cunliffe's room is in the second floor, where a disabled man like Mr Strike couldn't have acceded, but everyone else could.”

“Everyone who had the knowledge to perform such an smart robbery is either Strike or the family, not the service nor our other guests,” reasoned Matthew. “And the family has no motive, so I think it's pretty evident who did it. Besides, if someone had been intruding in any of our rooms, my wife, myself, the service or Strike would've given the alarm. We can all witness people aren't constantly coming in and out of any of our bedrooms.”

“It's still not enough to say Mr Strike did it, and it also wouldn't make sense,” replied the officer. “Mr Strike, aren't you homeless?” Ilsa's eyebrows rose in surprise and Strike couldn't look at her as he nodded.

“The only thing standing between absolute poverty and me is the Ellacott's kindness,” Strike recognised, without looking at Ilsa, whose eyes widened and she gripped his knee under the table. Strike's voice was hoarse because he was still coughing a lot. “No one wants a legless employee in a small town like this where people need to be moving, I'm unqualified for any of the little jobs that were available, and I can't physically perform the jobs I was educated and trained for,” he explained, his ears red with embarrassment and shame. “I don't have a penny. If the Ellacotts fire me and kick me out, I'll have to live in the park with below zero temperatures and rare possibilities of a job, so I'll most likely die. I almost did, hence my pneumonia.” As if it had heard him, a cough broke and he had to stop himself.

“See, I don't think he could ever...” the officer shrugged. “I'm afraid it's far more likely that someone in the family wants to steal the money. Mr Strike's been too sick, according to the doctor, to even stand from the bed, and this crime required planning, premeditation, a clear mind to do things without being caught. Not only Mr Strike hasn't been in condition to do it, but it would also be against his interest. He knows Stephen Ellacott is a banker and checks his work monthly, it would've been absurd to try to fool him while being gravely ill, and even more foolish it would've been to betray the ones he owes his life to. I have to agree with Mrs Herbert, that there's just no way to believe he'd do this. However, it's pretty popular for greedy people to go large extents for money, even betray the whole family. Until we find out who did it, I propose this book stays in a suitcase with a key only Mr Strike has.”

“And trust him with all our money without watch? That's your great idea?” said Matthew full of sarcasm.

“He's under suspicion; he's not going to do anything when he's being watched the most,” said the officer. “And if anything happens, all responsibility easily falls on his shoulders. Besides, Mr Strike is a man of law and security; he's the least indicated to betray you. Would you accept?” he looked at Strike, who nodded.

“Of course. I swore to take care of their accounts and that's what I will do,” said Strike. “I promise no illness will keep me from finding out who did this myself. I was an investigator in the Royal Military Police, after all.”

“I think it's a great idea,” Molly grinned. “We'll investigate ourselves alongside you,” she told the officer. “Find out who's betrayed us. It'll be painful, but better than condemning a good man.”

“If mum agrees, we won't be any less,” Michael nodded in agreement. “I too find it hard to believe Cormoran would do something like this. There must be a detail we're missing.”

“It's probably someone of the service,” Gwen, Robin's cousin, added. “Someone who wants more money. Someone who's worked here for long. Cormoran's barely been here a few days, not even a week, to know so much.”

“Then there's nothing more to do than investigate,” Uncle Charlie agreed. “Thank you, officer. And please accept our apologies, Cormoran. You've got our full trust now, unless police proves otherwise.”

Robin stood up and left without muttering another word. Matthew followed her and Strike observed, frowning.

The moment the officer had left as well and Strike had texted his family saying that all well, Ilsa stormed off to Strike looking rather pissed off, and slapped his chest angrily with both hands.

“Why didn't you tell me?” hissed Ilsa, scowling at him. Strike looked at her in surprise, and failed to make a quick response. “I am your best friend!” Ilsa stressed the words. “I would've helped you! I would've done anything for you! Do you think I want to bury my best friend?!”

“Ilsa, Ilsa, calm down...” Strike attempted, supporting on his crutches. “Look, I was hoping to get back on my feet real soon—,”

“Six months! How long were you going to wait before you realised you had made a fucked-up choice and there was no way things were going to improve without help! You'd rather live in a park bench, you'd rather trust some strangers, before letting me...”

“I couldn't stand being the weight on my best friends' shoulders! You had enough without me, I couldn't go and be a burden.”

“You could never be a burden—,”

“I felt as such,” Ilsa shut up, looking upset. Strike sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “I know everyone wanted to help, I know I am very lucky to have a bunch of good people dying to lend me a hand, I know everyone has the best intentions, but I was and am dealing with a lot. I needed to leave London, as I already explained to you, and the idea of calling to say I had failed and I was ruined was too much for me. I couldn't do that. I felt I would be a burden, even if no one did anything for me to feel that way. For God's sakes Ilsa, I can't even climb the entry's stairs without help. It's easy for me to feel like a burden and it was elementary for me to feel I could have success on my own. I know it seems stupid... but that's how things are. To me, becoming dependant on the people I love the most in the world would be a greater pain than sleeping on a bench in the street, but I can be reliant on strangers, it doesn't feel so bad. I want you all to have better than having to care for me, Ilsa, you deserve better.”

“You could've died...” Ilsa murmured.

“I was dying in London already, what difference did it make?” Strike puffed air and flopped on his bed. “I spent my days unable to move and do the things I've done for thirty-two years ago and that suddenly a year ago I was left unable to do anymore. Yet, I had to live in the city that's been my home most of my life, living with the memories of the things I used to do and the pain of not being able anymore, seeing the pity faces of those who knew me as an athletic, fit man and now saw me in a bed. Do you have any idea how painful that is? And then seeing you guys trying to have children and yet having to look after me after a day of hard work, seeing my family's worry and being unable to help... I can't even do the only things I know how to do. My life was sports, football, the army, investigating, protecting... all of that was ripped away from me. All-of-that. And every day it felt like I would've rather die on the field. Leaving London could only result on two things; dying and ending my misery, or finding a place were I could learn who legless Cormoran Strike is, what he can do, and make a new life for myself without being anyone's burden. Here I'm useful. Here I can do things.”

Ilsa took a deep breath and sat next to Strike, looking at her knees.

“I don't know what I would've done if you had died, here, there, whatever...”

Strike shrugged and squeezed her knee.

“You would've gone on without me, as you're supposed to do,” Strike smiled sadly. “Ilsa, I can't stay alive and suffer just because people need me or want me. I can't do things for everyone at the expense of my own well-being. If I'm always worrying about what will happen to everyone without me, how will I take risky chances to improve my life?”

“I know... I just...”

“It has all turned out okay,” resolved Strike, nodding for himself. “It doesn't make sense to dwell in the past. Please forgive me for not telling you, but I didn't want to cause suffering and I didn't want for anyone to try and make me come back. Let's just move on and focus on the fact that things are well now. Well, they will be once we find out who the hell is trying to get me kicked out.” Ilsa looked at him and nodded, kissing his cheek.

“I'm just happy you're okay,” said Ilsa. “I promise I'll support you.” Strike smiled.

“You never fail to amaze me,” said Strike happily. “Can I trust you won't tell the others? Lucy will stab herself with throwing blames upon herself, Nick will feel guilty... We don't need to give them that. It's all over, after all. There's no reason to tell them.”

“I won't tell, unless Nick asks me. I can't lie to my husband,” promised Ilsa. Strike was satisfied enough, and he nodded. “Robin seemed upset, shouldn't you go and talk to her?”

Strike sighed and shook his head. His eyes nailed on his knees and he let another long sigh out. Robin was one topic he didn't know how to resolve.

“I don't know what to do with Robin anymore. I think I'm persona non grata for her, she's been rather rough with me for a couple days now,” Strike shrugged. “I don't know why.”

“Her husband doesn't seem very fond of you either. Perhaps he's always telling her shit about you or something. Perhaps he got her to believe him.”

“Would you just believe your husband like that no matter what?”

“Of course,” Ilsa shrugged. “Besides, you haven't been here a week. Matthew's been in her life years. Good luck beating that.” Strike frowned. “Oh! Come!” Ilsa grabbed his hand surprisingly and pressed it against her belly.

“What?” Strike looked confused, then he felt something drumming against his palm on her belly. “What the hell was that?”

“Shut that dirty mouth!” Ilsa scolded with a chuckle. “This is my girl, arse.” Strike's mouth formed an 'o' and then he understood.

“She's kicking...” Ilsa nodded. “Woah. She's got strong legs, doesn't it hurt?”

“If she gets too excited, yes,” Ilsa shrugged. “So what are you going to do about Robin?” Strike pursed his lips deep in thought.

“Find who did this, clean my name, get her to trust me again. Then I will find out who the hell her husband is.”

 

 


	12. Not a bitch anymore

Keeping himself up with a good dose of painkillers and meds for his pneumonia, Strike examined the book from head to toe until he was sure he had corrected whatever wrongs the criminal had done to it. Stephen had already revised the family's bank accounts to ensure no one had suddenly earned money that wasn't justified and to see exactly how much it had been stolen. It was a full coincidence with what had been seen in the book, but no one could find where the stolen money was.

Strike's investigations, as his family went back to London but Ilsa and Nick decided to stay in case he kept needing a lawyer, led him to check the whereabouts of the entire family, so he interviewed with them all, as well as the service. Robin and Matthew were the most unhappy about it.

“You're not a cop, I will not answer to you,” had said Matthew very simply.

“What he said,” had said Robin, following her husband away. Strike rolled eyes.

“Glad to see at least you two seem to agree on things!” had said Strike full of sarcasm.

Eventually, as January came to an end, Strike realised he really only had one suspect, but he couldn't just say or everyone would say it was just out of personal bitter.

“Stephen,” Strike found Robin's eldest brother brushing _Rowntree_ in the living room.

“Hey Corm,” Stephen smiled at him. “What's up bro?”

“I need a favour.”

“Of course, anything you need mate.”

“You're a banker. Any chance you could investigate whether is possible that Matthew,” Strike said with a low voice, sitting next to him and the dog, “or his company have bank accounts he can access where he might've put the stolen money?”

“Your suspect is Matthew?” Stephen snorted a laugh. “Sure mate.”

“Thanks. You really don't mind?”

“Cormoran, between you and I,” Stephen lowered his voice as well. “My sister deserves better than a snooty twat.” Strike laughed.

“What has that to do with me?”

“Well if you get him out of this family, I won't be mourning, precisely,” Stephen shrugged.

As Ilsa, Nick and Strike had dinner together at a pub in Masham that day, Stephen suddenly appeared again.

“Your hunch was good!” Stephen said.

“Don't you rest? Have dinner with your family and those things?” Strike chuckled and Stephen laughed.

“This is more important,” Stephen sat with them at the pub. “Matthew's got access to a business account that even though is justified as a business account, his company has no relationship with. It's like a ghost business account.”

“That's weird,” Ilsa frowned. Stephen nodded and continued.

“I found the money there. That's it, Matthew did it.”

“It's not enough,” Strike sighed. “He will say someone else put it there.”

“How did you know it was him?” Nick asked Strike.

“Because he hates my guts and he's greedy as fuck. Caught him yelling at a maid the other day because his new sheets weren't as expensive and fancy as the other ones,” Strike shook his head in disapproval.

“God, what the fuck does my sister see in him?” Stephen puffed.

“He's handsome,” the men looked at Ilsa as if she had said the sun was falling and she shrugged defensively. “What? I have eyes in my face!” Nick shook his head with a sigh.

“Excuse her,” said Nick, kissing Ilsa's cheek.

“So how are you going to get him?” asked Stephen, looking at Strike.

“I'm going to have to get him to admit it.”

Back at the house that night, Strike, Nick and Ilsa found the rest of the family at the table with the post-dinner drinks and chatting, eating chocolates and cake. Robin avoided Strike's gaze and Strike frowned, but he had thought of a plan on his way to the house.

“Robin,” said Strike clearly. “I need to speak with you privately, please. It'll just be a moment.”

“I'm tired and it's late. Try tomorrow.” Robin replied dryly.

“Come on, one minute.” Strike insisted.

“If it's not important, then it can wait,” said Robin, stuffing a chocolate in her mouth. “And if it is, then it's either related to work, in which case you can better talk with Stephen, or the robbery, in which case I already said I wouldn't talk with you and I already said all I had to say to the police.”

Strike raised his eyebrows, surprised with her indifference and unfriendliness even if she had been that way for weeks, way longer than they had been friends.

“Alright,” said Strike with a nod. “I won't talk to you then. I'll talk to my friend Detective Anstis in the police and give him enough evidence to arrest your husband instead, if you'd rather I do that.” Robin looked up at him, indignant, and Matthew chocked in his drink. The family looked surprised.

“Do you think Matthew did it?” Molly asked.

“That's it,” Robin stood up. “Get out of my house I won't tolerate you speak that way to my husband. I may not be able to fire you, but—,”

“Let me be clear,” said Strike, feeling the last of his patience snap. “I'm sick of you, Robin Ellacott. I'm going to figure this shit out and then I will leave this house for good because you're impossible, and be thankful I'm not arresting you for obstruction to just—,”

“You're not a cop!” Robin interrupted, outraged.

“Right!” Strike roared. “I'm a sergeant of the Royal Military Police, you—,”

“Were,” interrupted Matthew, calmly. “Now you're as much of a civilian as any of us.”

“You wish,” Strike snorted a dry laugh. “I have friends all through Scotland Yard and the army, good friends, people that owe me several favours and even their life. If I want to, I will put you between bars even if it's just for thirty-six hours for fun.”

“You can't do that,” Matthew frowned.

“Try me,” dared Strike. “Now, I want you two to start collaborating and answering questions, and I'll have you know if you don't answer to me, I'll have an armed friend come and ask the questions needed for me. Ilsa, Nick,” he turned to his friends. “Is it okay for you if we go to a hotel tonight, you pay?”

“Absolutely,” Nick nodded. “I'll go pack our things.”

“I'll return you every penny you've lent me, don't worry,” said Strike angrily to Robin. She looked stupefied. Then he looked at Molly. “I'm sorry, but I quit, I'm too old to stand these situations. Someone else can take care of your book, I propose Matthew, maybe that way he can steal everything else.”

“How you dare?!” Matthew stood up. “You can be thankful I haven't put you in place yet!” he walked threateningly to Strike.

“Then do! By all means, don't you hold back for me.” Matthew went to swing a fist to Strike's face, but Strike used his crutches as support and, showing a great deal of upper body strength, impulsed himself up with the crutches and he collided his one heel with Matthew's chest, making him fall and hit his head against the floor. He lied down breathless, and Strike left while some family members, including Robin, grew indignant. He heard Martin and Stephen hold back laughter.

**. . .**

Strike lied on bed of their hotel room in frustration. He knew he shouldn't have lost it with the Ellacotts, not like that, but he had hold back for a month and he was ready to punch Matthew. He didn't have patience left.

“What are you going to do now?” asked Nick, sitting with Ilsa in their bed next to his.

“Resolve this for my ego and then...” Strike huffed, frustrated. “Can I go back to your place? I'm going to see if I can be someone's secretary or something.”

“Of course,” Ilsa smiled sadly at him. “I'm sorry this turned out like this.” Strike nodded.

“Anyway, I should go talk with the cops. I think I know how to get Matthew.”

Ilsa and Nick drove Strike to Ripon's police station, the closest there was, and Strike met with the officer who had attended the Ellacotts first. There, Strike explained how his relationship with Matthew was rather difficult, how Matthew had access to Robin's keys, how he had heard Matthew shout to Robin about how little he liked Strike and she being friends, and how Matthew had been an accountant and had more than enough experience to commit such crimes. Strike also told them about Stephen's findings, and that was all the officer needed to go interrogate and arrest Matthew. They were just driving back to Masham, after having lunch at a pub in Ripon, when Stephen called Strike.

“Cormoran, I showed the police what I found out, and they interrogated the service again and found out Matthew was seen around your room while you were sleeping when sick,” Stephen announced over the phone. “Cormoran, Matthew's been arrested. All thanks to you!” he sounded happy and excited. Strike nodded.

“How's Robin?” asked Strike.

“Really pissed off,” replied Stephen. “She confronted Matthew in front of the cops and got him to admit what he's done. She was furious and hurt, and crying... mum took her out for a walk to calm her nerves.”

“Alright. Take care of her for me, will you? I'm heading back to London.”

“Any chance you will take your job back?” Stephen pleaded.

“I'm sorry, but no,” Strike sighed. “Please, pass the message that I'm really thankful for everything, I owe your family, specially Robin, my life, but I don't want to be somewhere she's going to be uncomfortable. I won't bother her any longer. I'm to blame her husband has been caught, it's not weird if she despises me.”

Strike rejected Stephen's attempts to convince him to come back, and they went back to the hotel as a soft rain was falling. As they entered the hotel, they were surprised by Robin, who was sitting on a sofa by the hall, at a small bar the hotel had. She stood up, looking guilty, and went to Strike.

“We'll wait upstairs,” said Ilsa, grabbing her husband by the elbow and dragging him to the stairs. Strike sighed and looked at Robin, who looked down in shame.

“I'm very sorry,” murmured Robin. “I've been a twat to you. I'm an idiot, I...” she looked at him and Strike saw a troubled expression in her face. “I don't know why I trusted him with all he's done. He kept saying I am her wife and if we wanted our relationship to be better, I had to trust him and stand by him, and since he was convinced you weren't trustworthy, and he kept saying bullshit about you, he just insisted I had to support him against you and I ended up...” Robin sighed, pinching her nose bridge. “I shouldn't've trusted him, and even less against you. But I hardly knew you and he just convinced me. He manipulated me, I didn't mean to be so shitty to you, and disrespectful, hurtful, cruel. I'm sorry for everything and I understand if you never want to see me again but...” Robin's blue-gray eyes looked up at him with glassy eyes. “I've been a stupid idiot, and I've been unfair, and I miss you terribly. I should have stood up for you. I should have confronted him sooner, I should've realised...” she shook her head. “I'm going to divorce Matthew and I beg you to forgive me and come back. The family business needs you. I need you.”

Strike let a long breath out and he nodded, moving to sit on the sofa of the hall. Robin sat next to him looking ashamed of herself and concerned.

“It means a lot to me that you feel sorry and want to do things right and that you're leaving a bad man,” said Strike sincerely. “Thank you. I accept your apologies.” Robin smiled small. “However, I am still going to London.” Her smile dropped.

“Why? You hated it there.”

“I know,” Strike shrugged. “I will accept the job back, but I will execute it from London. I can stay with Nick and Ilsa. Thing is, Robin, I've spent most of my life in London, it's full of opportunities for me, once I can use a prosthesis, which should be soon. The only reason I stayed away was because of psychological bullshit and...” he sighed. “Perhaps it's time to get over it. I guess somehow staying away it didn't feel like I had lost so much, because the memories weren't there... but I miss being close to my family and friends, and I suppose if being in London has become hard, the solution is fixing it, not running away. I've been away seven months and it has only worsened things.”

Robin heard his resolve and pouted looked down sadly, but at the same time she was glad he was going to do what made him happy and get his life back together.

“Can we be friends again?” asked Robin after a while. “I'll be back in London soon, file for divorce from there.” Strike smiled and nodded.

“As long as you're not a bitch anymore,” he teased. She laughed.

“Hey!”

Strike and Robin walked to the Ellacott's house between laughter and small talk, forgetting the storms of the past few weeks, and Strike was reminded of how much of a great company Robin actually was, even when she was struggling, as she confessed herself, with all the things that were happening. She just wanted to pack her things and head back to London, get her own flat unrelated to Matthew, and start over. So once they got at the house, Strike picked-up some things he had left at the house, and Robin gave him payment.

“After all, you've done a wonderful work this month, and you did catch Matthew,” she proclaimed grinning at him as she handed him the cheque.

They signed a new contract so he'd work from London, and Strike bid affectionate farewell to all the Ellacotts. Then Robin drove him in her Land Rover back to the hotel where Nick and Ilsa awaited to go back to London.

“Well, it's been a pleasure,” said Strike, feeling a pang of sadness as the time to say goodbye came. Robin nodded with a sad smile. “Call me when you get to London, will you?”

“Of course,” replied Robin a bit more cheerful. “You stay out of trouble. It's been an honour to meet you and host you.” She added, blushing. Strike chuckled.

“It's been an honour to be sick under your roof,” he teased, making her snigger. He opened an arm, supporting his entire weight on his one foot and one crutch. “Hugs?” Robin grinned and hugged him tightly, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Strike smiled burying his face in her sweet-smelling strawberry-blonde hair, and hugged her tightly with her one arm.

“I'm gonna miss you,” said Robin.

“Call me then.” Encouraged Strike, before pulling away. Then Robin went to hug Ilsa and Nick as well.

“Thank you for righting things,” said Robin looking fondly at Ilsa, who smiled. “And good luck with the baby!”

“Thanks,” Ilsa chuckled. “If you need a lawyer with the divorce, let me know alright? We can talk in London.”

“That'd be great, thank you,” said Robin happily.

“Thanks for taking care of our giant bastard,” murmured Nick, winking at her.

“Anytime,” Robin waved them goodbye as the car speed away from Masham and towards London. Strike twisted in his seat so he could see her standing by the road waving at them with glassy eyes, until their car took a turn and she was lost from sight.

 

 


	13. Trying to be better

During the first days back in London, Strike focused highly on going back to Shelly Oak Hospital daily for physiotherapy sessions, as his doctor considered that the stump was healed-up enough for him to move into a prosthesis. So Strike did his exercises day and night, hit the gym to strengthen the upper part of his body and his one leg and get fit, and accepted Nick's super healthy diet. Robin and him spoke on the phone frequently, and Strike emailed everything he did while working on the family's book, that sat camouflaged between other books in his bedroom's bookshelf, because sometimes the best way to hide something is putting it out in the obvious. It's way easier for someone to spot a safe and feel curious about it and determined to figure out what's in there, than for someone to notice anything different between a hundred books on a shelf.

As the days passed, Robin managed to convince Strike, on the phone, to visit a psychotherapist that had been a classmate and friend of Robin during university, someone who she knew was very good, to help him deal with his baggage. In truth, being back in London wasn't easy and he felt strangely disconnected and unfamiliar, without mentioning the countless nightmares that kept invading his dreams.

Anyone who's ever been in London knows it's a country onto itself. It changes every day and it's always full of movement. Tube up and down, train, taxis, buses, overground, and loads of walking. That, for someone with limited movement, is challenging. But then add that Strike had gone off to the army at age 21 and until having his lower leg blown-off two Christmases ago, which meant that for the past eleven years of his life, he had only lived in London very sporadically, and it was nothing like it was when he was a young boy. Strike felt more familiar and comfortable with the countryside, with Afghanistan, Cyprus, and places less big-city like, than in London, and it took some adjusting.

“They can fuckin' piss off,” grunted Strike as he sat for lunch one day, coming back from Shelly Oak. “It's not my bloody fault if they can't fucking step aside and let a man in crutches move, why do they even bother insulting me? It's not like I cut my leg off,” he ranted. “Fucking tube is full of people, and it's not my fault I'm a big guy, where am I supposed to put myself if you don't fucking step aside? And besides, the lift is for people who need it, not for damn useless lazy bastards who can't get their shit right for once.”

“Corm sweetie, I understand you're very angry and upset, but Emily has already developed ears,” Ilsa gave Strike a sympathetic but stern glance, putting an arm around her belly as she ate, and Strike nodded.

“I just don't understand why people are so brainless,” said Strike. “Okay, everyone knows London is not all nice and kind, but Jesus, where's politeness when it comes to treating a legless man?” Strike would much rather use the word legless than disabled. “Everyone is way kinder in Yorkshire.”

“So kind to leave you to sleep on a bench,” Nick murmured under the table. Strike pretended not to hear him.

Suddenly London seemed ruder, harsher, less polite, dirtier... than ever. It seemed like a hell-hole and Strike wasn't sure it was his place anymore. But Robin and his friends and family kept encouraging, and so did his new psychotherapist, Yvette, so Strike kept trying. Around March, he had managed to open a Detective's Agency in Denmark Street with the money the Ellacotts had paid him. About then, Robin, whose divorce had been handled by Ilsa in London, knocked on his door by surprise when Strike was putting together some furniture in his new, tiny office.

Strike opened the door standing in the first prosthesis he had been told to wear for a few hours per day, to start getting used, find the flaws and try to get them fixed for a next one. Suddenly Robin was hugging him tight like a monkey and all he had seen was a flash of honey colour, before feeling her warmth and smelling her sweet scent.

“Robin!” Strike laughed, hugging her with both arms. “It's taken you so long to come!”

“Oh, moving out has been super difficult,” Robin grinned, grabbing his face between her hands. “You look great! Look at you standing up! How's the prosthesis?”

“It's great,” Strike nodded. “Still use the crutches a lot, but slowly getting used to it. You look...” stunning, gorgeous, happier, excited, “very nice.” Fuck you Strike. A blush covered his ears.

“Thanks,” Robin looked around to hide her own blushing. “Woah, you got a nice place. Do you have a flat yet?”

“No,” Strike shrugged. “But Ilsa will be giving birth soon and they asked me to stay a bit longer to help around the first few days at least, if I don't mind. It's the least I owe them.” Robin nodded, then shrugged, sitting on a sofa Strike had just put together an hour previously, as he sat on the floor and went back to putting together a shelf. “What about you? Still married?”

“Signed the papers earlier today,” said Robin. “So happily unmarried. Got a flat in Elephant & Castle.”

“Not too bad, congrats,” Strike turned to smile at her. She looked nervous and she focused on the instruction book of the bookshelf Strike was putting together, offering a few pieces of advice before she blurted:

“I have a spare room,” said Robin with a shrug. “I don't need it for anything. And the flat has a lift and is big and spacious... I was thinking, maybe, perhaps,” she blushed hard. Strike left his task and focused on her. “You could move in with me.” She looked down, pretending to focus on the instructions book. “You can pay a bit of the rent if you feel more comfortable that way, and you can come and go as you please, night, day... there's space enough for us to live our separate lives without minding the other, and well, it'd be nice.”

Strike looked surprised and nodded slowly.

“Are you afraid of living alone?” asked Strike with curiosity. Robin frowned.

“No,” she shrugged. “I just... I know you need a place, and I'm from a big family, used to a house full of people, it's just so silent all the time... it's hard to be in there. I've never lived so alone.”

“And are you truly sure you want me there?” asked Strike then. “It's not easy when it's just the two of us. I may drive you nuts.” He added in the form of a teasing comment, half-smiling at her. Robin rolled eyes.

“I'm sure, Cormoran. Besides, you're the tidiest person in the world, and you have your own job now, so I'm not your boss and we can just be friends again.”

“Right,” Strike nodded slowly. “Well if it is what you want...” he shrugged. “I will move in with you once Ilsa and Nick are happier to let me go.”

Robin beamed, grinning from ear to ear and clapping happily.

“Yay!” she said excitedly, making him giggle.

“Now help me put this damn thing together so I can invite you out for lunch.”

“Oh, such a gentleman, I'm so lucky,” Robin chuckled and moved to the floor to help him.

Strike tried to ignore the way his heart fluttered when Robin's hand accidentally brushed against his as they manoeuvred the furniture, the way she smiled at him or giggled every now and then, or the way her brows furrowed in deep concentration and she bit her tongue with her teeth when she was doing something particularly tricky. All those things sent jolts of excitement through Strike's veins. Strike, who hadn't been with a woman in close to a year, and ho couldn't help to notice how beautiful Robin was, and particularly now that she was happy and free.

Once the bookshelf was put together, Strike took Robin out to a nearby pub and bought them a couple small bottles of Doom Bar, Strike's personal favourite beer, and also some fish and chips, salad and chicken-wings. When Strike arrived to the table Robin had picked with all that food in his hands, Robin laughed.

“You want to make me fat,” said Robin with a twinkle in her eyes.

“This is the ideal food for break-ups, I'll have you know,” said Strike, putting the food on the table and sitting nearby. He couldn't help but let out a gasp of relief as the weight he had had on his stump was relieved. “Calories and deliciousness. Like you could ever need anything else.”

“Well, Mr Strike,” Robin lifted a grassy chicken wing with one whole fist. “Here's to us and new beginnings.” Strike chuckled and lifted another one, colliding them lightly as if they were cups, before giving it such a hungry bite, Robin had to laugh out-loud, sending shivers through Strike's body. He hadn't realised he had missed her so much, and the memory he had had of her didn't seem to make her justice.

“Oh, perfect!” Strike beamed as he munched, his cheeks full.

“So,” Robin gulped. “How's your new job like?”

“I have no clients yet,” said Strike. “And I'm a bit of in debt.” He added with a chuckle. “So basically flawlessly.” Robin giggled. “How's your single life?”

“I'm lonely, sexless, and almost thirty,” Robin shrugged and then grinned, joking. “So basically flawlessly.” She imitated him. This time, it was Strike's turn to giggle. He felt ridiculously cheerful in her company.

 

 


	14. Pounding vigorously (+18)

A couple weeks later, Ilsa gave birth to a healthy, fat, baby Emily Blue Herbert. She had a bit of fair hair covering the top of her tiny head, and her legs were full of rolls, and her parents were completely awestruck by her 'perfection', as they stared into her blue-green eyes and melted away.

“Good job mama,” Strike had kissed the top of Ilsa's forehead with a grin as she sat in the hospital bed holding her brand new daughter.

“Absolutely perfect,” Nick added in awe, with an arm around his wife and daughter, grinning down at the sleeping baby. Ilsa held back a happy sob and caressed Ali's cheek lovingly.

On the other corner of the bed, Robin smiled at Strike, who smiled back, blushing slightly.

The day was spent mostly in the hospital, as Ilsa and Emily were kept for one day for observation, as Emily had been slightly premature, and then Robin offered Strike to come home and toast to the brand new baby. So that got them standing around her kitchen as she poured them a cup of white wine for her and a big pint of Doom Bar for him, as Alan Parson's 'Eye in the sky' came from the oldies channel in the radio.

“ _I am the eye in the sky, looking at you uh ohh_ ,” Robin was singing as she moved her hips with the music and poured wine, amusing Strike.

“You know this song is actually very creepy right?” said Strike. Robin looked at him over her shoulder and chuckled amused.

“Is it?” inquired Robin. “Well, music genius, explain.” Strike half-smiled.

“ _I can read your mind,_ ” Strike sang with a low, grave voice, that did things to Robin's groin. “ _I am the maker of rules, dealing with fools, I can cheat you blind_.” He rose eyebrows and drank from his beer.

“Okay, I see your point,” Robin gave in with a giggle, raising her cup of wine. “To the Herberts.”

“Bless them,” Strike nodded, clinging his glass with her cup and pretended not to stare at her pretty barefoot feet as he looked down briefly.

“So,” Robin gulped the wine down, as they walked to the sofa, “what about this one?” she pointed to the radio as she flopped on the sofa and another song started. “I'd say is pretty romantic.” Strike laughed out-loud, making her shiver, as he flopped next to her.

“You're terrible. This song is very clearly about harassment and rape. How are you such a song-butcher?” he added with a teasing smile. Robin giggled into her cup of wine.

“Excuse me, but not all of us have two musician parents. You practically learned to play the guitar in the womb,” Robin smiled sweetly at him and Strike had to make a conscious effort not to go and kiss her. “How else are you so good at this?” Strike shrugged.

“Music was a big thing at home, as you can probably imagine.”

“Can I ask you something private?” asked Robin cautiously. Strike raised his eyebrows, surprised, and nodded. “Who took care of Lucy and you after...?” Strike knew what she wanted to say. After a nutter shot your mother in a concert and killed her. After your father didn't give a shit about you. He smiled to comfort her as she suddenly had a troubled expression.

“Uncle Ted and Aunt Joan,” replied Strike. “My mum's brother. They're back in St. Mawes, where my sister and I were born. I lived there for a few months and then I enlisted in the army. That's on Google too.” He added before drinking of his beer with a side smile. Robin rolled eyes.

“It's disgusting that your whole story is in Google,” said Robin. “Invasion of privacy. I don't feel nice reading about you online, nor Lucy... I feel like an stalker.” Strike chuckled.

“How come Google doesn't have a whole page about you? The rich granddaughter of the rich Ellacotts...”

“Who is a psychotherapist working for human resources,” reminded Robin. “I need my privacy. Besides, when I was in university, my parents used all their power of money to shut down any attempts to publish stuff, and threatened those who tried.”

“Uh, perhaps my uncle should've done that,” said Strike, about to joke. “Threaten them with slapping them with a whole tuna...” Robin laughed and Strike sniggered.

“Is your uncle a fisherman then?” asked Robin, blushing from the alcohol. This felt oddly intimate, with the night's light so dimly, a fish cooking in the oven, and soft old music playing in the background, both sitting on the sofa twisted to face each other.

“He was a SIB like me,” answered Strike. “Then he retired and he grows plants, trees... he's got a sailing boat and he likes to sail and fish every now and then. And Joan was a teacher at St. Mawes' primary school, but when she retired she joined some landscapes' painting classes and now she's an artist. She's already sent me a painting of Land's End to hang in my living room once I have one.”

“Oh, that's so sweet!” Robin was moved. “Is she good?”

“She's surprisingly amazing,” Strike nodded. “And I don't know much about art, but damn, I want a living room just to fill it with her art. She's great. My turn for intimate question!”

“Shoot,” Robin encouraged.

“Do you automatically psychoanalyse everyone you meet?” Robin roared of laughter.

“Honestly, no,” Robin shrugged. “It actually takes effort to tune in that side. I normally prefer shutting it down —there are things one doesn't want to know.” Strike laughed.

Conversation flowed easily between them, giggling drunkenly and teasing each other, mocking, in a game of pull and push boundaries, trying to come closer. Finally dinner was ready and they got up, Strike set the table and Robin took the fish out of the oven and distributed it in semi-equal parts —Strike's plate was filled more generously—, adding potatoes and refilling their glasses. Then, they settled on the small dining table with a comforting domesticity to it, as if they had done it a bunch of times. Robin couldn't help but notice just how much better it was to have dinner when he was close and being like that, and Strike felt comforted in her company, understood and appreciated, in ways your friends simply couldn't do.

After dinner, and despite they both were already pretty tipsy, Robin offered to open a bottle of scotch she had saved for special occasions, and Strike couldn't say no, so he insisted on washing the dishes while Robin took care of drinks and put a CD of 'The Cranberries'.

“Dolores O'Riordan,” said Robin as Strike came back and looked curiously at the CD case in her hands. She put the case aside and offered him his glass back. “She passed away recently, but I just adore her.”

“Favourite singer?” asked Strike. Robin smiled and nodded as 'Kiss me' came from the speakers.

“Yours?” asked Robin then.

“Ah, hard choice...” sighed Strike, making her snigger as she drank from her glass and they stood on the carpeted floor in the middle of her small but spacious sitting room. “I like indie music. And soft rock, like ballads rock... although then I seem to like mostly everything, so it'd be Daughtry or perhaps The Beatles. Mum was a big fan of 'Blue Öyster Cult'.”

“Oh,” a grin slowly crept its way into Robin's face. “Cormoran _Blue_...”

“Stop it,” Strike giggled. “Well shall I offer you a dance now? I seem to recall owing you one.” He said, referring to that New Year's Party in Masham. Robin blushed and nodded, and they put their glasses on the table.

Strike tried his best to ignore the way the small hairs in the back of his neck rose up when Robin put her arms around his neck and they danced slowly. Robin tried to ignore the lyrics she knew too well, his big hands on her hips, the smell of shaving cream and the way his dark eyes seemed to penetrate right into her soul. Robin's perfume was just so flowery and nice and invaded Strike's nostrils, and he didn't realise he was kissing the top of her forehead before he did it.

“Favourite colour?” Robin asked taking him by surprise.

“Blue.”

“Same,” Robin chuckled and her eyes were bright looking up at him. Strike smiled softly.

“Favourite season?”

“Fall.”

“Same,” said Strike this time, making her look amused at him.

“Favourite food?”

“Steak.”

“Uh,” Robin winked, having fun. “Lasagna.”

“Nobody's perfect,” said Strike, making her giggle. “Favourite person?” he asked in a daring way, his eyes fixed in Robin's blue-gray sky, and she looked serious this time. She fell quiet, blushed, and gave him a look just as daring, as if saying 'try me'.

Then she said:

“You.” Strike's lips curved into half a smile.

“I'm afraid I can't agree in that one either,” he murmured huskily, before he obeyed Dolores O'Riordan's request and he kissed the girl full on the lips.

Once the kiss started, it seemed like an inextinguishable flame that consumed them both, and their lips parted to make more space, colliding against each other's with more and more intensity, hands grasping into each other for dear life, as they raised up the room's temperature several degrees. They could hardly stop to breathe as the kiss just took a great deal of intensity in very little time, and soon Robin was moaning into his lips, her fingers sliding between the buttons of his blue shirt and brushing the dark mane of his chest hair, making him grunt and bury his fingers in her hair as his tongue found hers and he kissed her so deeply she felt as if he was reaching her soul.

Robin's other hand buried in his curls and pulled from his hair to yank his head backwards and, as Strike grunted in protest and looked at her with a frown, she suddenly bit into his neck and he closed his eyes, moaning, as she sucked into his pulse point and then his clavicle. Then she let him bent to kiss her again, and she pushed him to the sofa, falling on his lap and eliciting a moan as she sat onto his quickly hardening rod, kissing him as if her life depended on it, her hair making a honey curtain tickling his neck. He then put his hands on her back and his lips found her neck, making her lean backwards slightly and throw her head back in pleasure as he sucked on her neck and shoulders, revealed by the dress she was wearing, first pulling hard from the skin with the suction and then relieving the slight pain with his tongue. Strike pulled apart to see the most erotic thing he had ever seen; Robin's pupils dilated looking at him, her ears read and her lips red and swollen, her hair savage like a lion, thrown back in strawberry-gold waves. Then she suddenly grabbed his shirt and yanked it open, making buttons fly everywhere, and as she kissed him again, fingers nailing into his skull with long-held desire and passion, pulling him against her, her other hand trailed fingers down her back, her nails pressing just enough, as his hands blindly found the back of her dress and pulled down the zip, caressing her bareback as his hands slid up to her shoulders, pushing the dress down them. Robin moved to pull her arms off the dress and remove his shirt completely and Strike looked surprised as he noticed she didn't have a bra. Robin rose one eyebrow, looking daringly at him. She was setting him on flames and she knew it.

“Well detective, are you going to inspect the crime scene?” she said huskily. Strike gulped.

“Thoroughly.” He said then, his hand cupping her pale, pink breasts, and pinching her pink buds, making her moan and throw her head back again, exposing her neck to his adventurous tongue.

Robin wound-up throwing herself aside on the sofa and pulling him down with her, so he lied on top of her, his weight deliciously squeezing her just enough, as his mouth sucked on her freckled breasts and she moaned, her hands scratching his back. It was then that she pulled him in for a kiss and then rolled so she was on top of him, kissing her way down to his chest. She sucked on his own tiny nipples, and Strike moaned burying a hand on her hair. He couldn't help but lock eyes with her as she kissed her way down to the bulge in his pants, and she pulled them down, carefully taking his prosthesis off with his help. They kissed again as they did so, and Robin threw her dress away, kneeling between his legs wearing only her lace black panties, and he tried not to cum as he saw her pull her boxers down and set his large, seven inches cock free. She stared at it impressed, calculating that he was probably the biggest man she had ever been with, looking at the intimidating, wide tool before she tentatively put her hand around her and started moving it up and down. She knew she was doing a good job when Strike shut his eyes close, arching his back and throwing his head back as a long, hoarse moan left his lips. When Robin tentatively started sucking the tip of his cock, he could feel the smile against his dick as he just moaned harder.

“Robin,” he grunted, opening his eyes. “Robin, condoms, my wallet.” Robin sniggered as she noticed happily that he seemed to have broken, and stood up to fetch them quickly.

“Prepared man,” she complimented, seeing several condoms.

“I was well-educated,” Strike pulled her down for a kiss. “I should probably warn you though, last time I had sex I still had both legs. It's been over a year. I may last super little or may not know where to put my leg or...”

“Sh...” Robin shut him up with a deep kiss, smiling against it. “I haven't had sex since New Year's Eve, and Matthew wasn't particularly good, but he was way tinier than you. Guess we'll have to find this out together, just you and I.” she whispered between kisses peppered around his face, as she lied on top of him and her inferior lips parted around his length as she pressed herself against it, as it pointed up to Strike's chin, making them both moan. Her hard nipples also brushed against his chest, and he felt he was losing his mind.

“Don't you mind then?” asked Strike to be sure.

“I just want to be with you. Even if this gets clumsy... Practice makes perfect,” she chuckled, kissing him on the lips. He smiled against her lips and grabbed her arse cheeks, making her moan and press more against him.

“Practice makes perfect indeed. Sit on my face.” Said Strike. Robin's dilated pupils got impossibly dark and she moved to support with each knee at one side of his face before pressing herself against him. His tongue parted his lips with expertise and his tongue pressed into her hole alternating with licking up and down and swirling around her clit. She was a quivering mess of moans in no time and soon, she was coming down. He drank up to the last drop and Robin observed impressed. Matthew had never done that. He was usually shit at oral, and ended up using too much saliva, too much teeth, and making things uncomfortable.

“Fuck me,” said Robin before kissing him passionately. They made out for a long time before Robin urged Strike to roll on top of her.

“Tell me if it gets too much,” said Strike kissing her again as he put on the condom. He supported his weight on his good leg and a forearm, she put her legs around his hips and pretended not to be nervous because she couldn't help but think he was going to break her in two, and then he took his length and coated the tip with her wetness before managing the broad head into her threshold and, as he kissed her, he pushed in just slowly.

Robin groaned into his mouth as he pressed and the whole time it felt at anytime it would be too much and he would break her, but every time she thought it was going to happen, it didn't, and he just kept going in, stretching her so deliciously, until she felt out of breath, and full, and in the seventh cloud. Soon, Strike was rocking softly into her and she nailed her ankles against his ass cheeks, urging him to give her more. She was a trembling mess, screaming his name, as he sweated and pounded into her for dear life, until he spent inside the condom and Robin let a silent scream go, feeling one, two, three orgasms rock her until she could hardly think.

 


	15. You look so...!

Strike awoke when the light of the new day came through the curtains, and he stretched in bed, felt an arm under a weight, and moved to such weight, nestling his face in flower-smelling hair and throwing his other arm around smooth hips, pressing himself close to the other body, smiling with a content hum, and falling asleep once again. Next, he immersed in a world of nightmares, in which he recalled being inside a SUV, as a passenger as the vehicle drove through the sandy roads of Afghanistan, when he had noticed something on the road, and screamed 'Brake!!!' for dear life, throwing his body to his friend Anstis' to shield it as an explosion took the vehicle to pieces.

“Cormoran!” Strike's eyes popped open and he was met with Robin's worried expression as she leant over him, a hand on his shoulder, where she had shook him awake, and still looking as she hadn't been awake for long, her hair cascading messily but also charmingly, and her eyes nailed in his. “Are you alright? You were screaming...”

Strike was then conscious of his heart racing painfully, his clammy hands and his sweaty body, nude under Robin's duvet, and felt like throwing up. He then noticed Robin was wearing his enormous soft blue shirt, with the sleeves rolled over her elbows, the first few buttons undone and the ends of it falling at thigh's height, covering her intimacy just enough and almost reaching her knees.

“Cormoran...” Robin tried again, caressing his face softly, and leaning to kiss his forehead. “It must've been a terrible nightmare.” She whispered empathetically.

“I'm alright,” said Strike finally, reaching a hand to rub his face with far less delicacy than Robin's, as if he was trying to rub away all traces of his nightmare from his mind. “I'm sorry I worried you.”

“I'm sorry you didn't sleep well,” she was sitting on the verge of the bed, and smiled softly at him. “I'm making breakfast.” Then the smell of eggs and bacon got to Strike's nostrils and he hummed content, smiling a little.

“Oh, believe me I slept very well, and I'm about to have an even better morning,” Strike sat up on the bed where they had ended after round three and put his arms around Robin, pulling her in and, as she giggled, Strike peppered kisses across her face, lips, eyelids, neck, and breathed in her scent, enjoying the feeling of her body between his arms.

“My sweet giant,” Robin murmured, and he felt and heard her take in his smell as she buried her face against the side of his head, and her hand played with his curls. “It was nice, wasn't it?”

“Super nice,” Strike closed his eyes, feeling himself relax against her body. “How are you feeling today?”

“Uhm, I'm slightly stiff all over and I've never seen so many red spots in my skin before, so pretty great I'd say.” He heard, more than felt, her smile against the skin behind his ear, before she pressed a kiss there.

“Sorry about that,” Strike said without meaning it too much, and Robin caught it and snorted.

“Don't worry, I seem to recall having returned the favour,” Robin patted his back and pulled away. “Breakfast's gonna burn. I put a clean towel in the bathroom in case you want to shower, alright? And you'll also find a toothbrush.”

“Right, thanks,” Strike accepted a peek on the lips and, once Robin was out of the room, he manoeuvred himself out of the bed, and hopped to the luxurious en-suite bathroom.

He was reminded of the luxurious flat Charlotte had shared with him once, although this one seemed different; it smelled nice, it felt of home, and it wasn't so cold. Robin had her toothbrush in a small vase, and it was a blue toothbrush, next to a white one put inside a plastic envelope that had never been opened. There was a calendar on a wall with what Strike soon noticed was the record of her cycle, and a day a few days prior had a happy face drawn on it next to a handwritten 'Free elf!' which made Strike snigger. There were dark blue and silver towels on a rack, and wooden furniture, and the towel paper had geometrical figures drawn on it. There was a small carpet next to a big bathtub that had bubbles drawn on it, and the shower curtain in the bathtub had more bubbles, of different colours. This spoke of a cheerful woman that didn't take life overly seriously and that was organised, settled, independent. Someone who cared and took time for herself.

Strike had a piss before getting into the bathtub and sitting there, unable to stand up to shower. He just reached for the shower head and turn the water on and washed himself, finding a bottle of shampoo next to a bottle of hair conditioner he wasn't going to need, and using a cream-coloured gel to clean his parts. He noticed that his dick was a bit too sensitive and a bit reddish from the excess of action after so long with none. He tried to leave the bathroom as clean as he had found it, and he wrapped himself in one of the blue and grey towels, brushing his hair and body as he sat on the toilet. When he finally hopped out of the bathroom, the bedroom stunk of bacon, eggs and beans and his clothes from the night before, including his underwear and socks were folded and smelling clean on the bed. Strike felt touched and smiled, getting dressed.

He noticed his blue shirt wasn't there, so he just put on the soft jumper he had been wearing and had removed before dinner, since the flat was warmer than the street, and went to the sitting room, where he found Robin with the breakfast and tea on the coffee table, wearing his shirt with her panties on and sitting haphazardly on the sofa watching the BBC very lazily.

“All good?” Robin smiled at him. “You look so sexy with your hair wet.” Strike chuckled.

“Thanks for cleaning my clothes and making us breakfast, you didn't have to,” Strike leaned to kiss her. “I'm never getting my shirt back, aren't I?” Robin smiled against his lips.

“I'll put it to wash in a moment, I swear.”

“Don't, I like it smelling of you.”

“Funny I like it smelling of you,” Robin kissed him again. “I'm gonna get dressed, are you going back to the hospital?” she asked already from her bedroom, the door of it open. Strike bit a piece of bacon and hummed loving the taste.

“I'll first go back to Wandsworth and get changed, so they don't tease me,” said Strike. “Then yes, Ilsa and Emily are supposed to be discharged this morning, so they might need some help with the carriage and the bags and everything.” He took a long sip of his tea and noticed it was raining outside, and the window was full of drops sliding down.

“Good,” Robin said from her bedroom. “I have to go to work, but I'll visit there this afternoon.”

“I'll let them know,” Strike nodded for himself. He finished his breakfast and Robin came back, fully dressed and with his shirt, as he was halfway down his tea. She smiled at him, handing the shirt and seeing Strike's eyes widen at how pretty she was.

She was wearing an elegant tube skirt with a dark blue blouse and a businesslike jacket, a scarf and her purse, and her hair was plaited and she wore dark leotards because it was cold outside. Her make-up was soft and nice and she blushed as he didn't stop staring.

“See something you like?” she flirted.

“Damn,” Strike breathed out. “How do you look so well so effortlessly?”

“Tell that to teenager me, anxious about the damn acne,” Robin chuckled. Strike smiled and removed his jumper to button up his shirt and then put the jumper back on. “I know you want to stay at Wandsworth to help around but,” she flopped on the sofa, putting an arm around his shoulders and kissing the nearest broad shoulder, interlacing their fingers on his knee. “Any chance you may come back tonight?”

“Uhm...” Strike kissed the top of her head. “I would love to, but they will suspect if I leave at night all of the sudden. Even if I tell them I'm having dinner with you.”

“So what?” Robin shrugged. “You're a big guy, sure is fine if they know you're seeing someone?”

“It's not so easy,” said Strike. “I'd rather we kept this to ourselves for a while.” Robin frowned.

“Why's that?”

“Robin, I...” Strike bit his inside cheek, trying to figure how to phrase it without offending her. “I've lived my whole life with my life posted online and paparazzi up my arse, just for my parents and, believe it or not, that's grown me into someone who appreciates privacy more than most things. I don't want anyone to harass me with questions, invade, keep an eye on my hickeys and tease me, even if it is well-intentioned. I know my friends and my family, if Lucy knows she'll go all motherly, asking constantly and probably pressing me to buy you an engagement ring before we've even been official for a year, Nick will amuse himself teasing and intruding and Ilsa will become even more over-protective and all. They all mean well and I'm fine with those things happening at some point, but not when we've just slept together one night, it's not like we've been dating even. I like to take matters slowly, Robin.” Robin's expression softened and she nodded slowly.

“That's alright,” she smiled softly, caressing his cheek. “Lunch date on the weekend, then? Sure Ilsa and Nick can deal with a kid without you for a couple hours?”

“Of course,” Strike smiled. “I'm sure they'd do well without me at all, but I just feel I owe them, you know. I want to help where I can. But lunch date sounds perfect.”

“Great,” Robin kissed him sweetly, and Strike smiled into the kiss, feeling her hand press against his cheek. “I really need to go, you finish-up at your own rhythm and lock-up for me?”

“Sure,” Strike nodded, and Robin handed him a set of spare keys.

“Keep them, for you,” Robin kissed his forehead. “Hopefully see you later!”

“Count on it, have fun at work.”

“Give kisses to the family from me.”

“Certainly not from me,” teased Strike, and heard her giggle as she went to the door and left.

Strike took his time to eat calmly as he watched the morning news and felt a warmth inside at the memories of Robin, feeling crazy about seeing her again. He wondered if it'd be socially acceptable to pass by her office, but before he could do such crazy things, he was up washing the dishes and making sure Robin's flat was tidy and neat to compensate how nice she was with him. He made a point on leaving a note on a post-it he found, pasting it on the sitting room's door. He scribbled ' _Breakfast was perfect. Thank you, hope your day was great. C xoxo'_. Strike then made sure he had everything he needed, slid Robin's keys into his key-chain, and left the flat.

 

 

 


	16. The best Godfather

He took the underground to Wandsworth and changed his clothes, made lunch for the family, as it was pretty late in the morning, and made sure the nursery was all set in the way Nick and Ilsa had commented it should be, before hopping into a taxi and getting to the hospital once again. Nick's family was just leaving the room and Strike got to salute him before coming in and seeing Ilsa was already dressed, and was just making baby Emily comfortable in her car's carriage. Strike was thankful he had changed into a tall-necked jumper to cover the love-bites.

“How was it last night with Robin?” asked Nick smiley as he took his wife's coat and helped her put it on.

“It was alright,” Strike gave it a nod. “How's Emily?”

“She's good,” replied Ilsa looking tired but happy. “Can't wait to get home and get comfortable.”

“Nick can help you shower while I keep an eye on the little one,” suggested Strike, and Ilsa smiled grateful at him. Then she stopped in her tracks, fixing her eyes more intently on him.

“Oh my God you had sex!” Ilsa suddenly realised. Strike frowned and shook his head.

“What? Ilsa, who'd want to have sex with a man who lacks half a leg? Stumps aren't precisely in the top ten of sexy things for a man to have.”

“But you look bright, happy...”

“My best friends had the baby they've wanted for a decade,” said Strike. “I'm thrilled. Now, we should go. It's raining and better go before it gets worse.”

Strike didn't feel remorse about having lied, and quickly got on to help Nick with the baby bag, also devoting to wheel Ilsa out, while Nick took the baby itself in her chair and went in front to guide them. Ilsa leaned back content in her wheelchair, and Strike pushed after Nick, and soon they were downstairs in the car and Strike held an umbrella up while Ilsa got comfortable in the back-seat with the baby and Nick threw the things to the trunk and secured Emily in her seat before sitting in the driver's seat. Only then, Strike sat next to him as the copilot, putting the wet umbrella aside as the rain drummed against the windows.

“Look, Em, your first rainfall,” Strike heard Ilsa say behind them, and he turned to see his best friend beaming at the baby, that had appeared asleep but now had her eyes slightly opened examining her surroundings as her tiny fists tucked under her chin. He saw Nick smile to himself as he put on his seatbelt.

“And her first car trip,” Nick added happily. “Let's go home, shall we? Thank God you're helping, Godfather,” he commented igniting the car and getting out of the parking lot, side smiling at Strike.

“Is the least I could do,” murmured Strike, looking through the window as they navigated through the rainy streets and the congested London. Then, he felt his phone buzz in his trousers pocket and he took it, holding back a smile and a blush as he saw it was just Robin ' _Stuck in the office with paperwork, but thinking of you makes it all easier. See you later? R xoxo'_ Strike looked at Nick. “Hey guys, is it okay if Robin comes by later, for dinner or something? She wants to visit Emily.”

“Sure,” said Ilsa. “A friend was also coming, so one more won't hurt. And my parents will be here tomorrow, by the way.” Strike nodded.

“It'd be nice to see them, it's been long,” murmured Strike.

Ilsa's parents were long-time friends of his mother and aunt, since school, and Strike maintained a close relationship with them, to the point that they were basically second parents. Ilsa knew, because her relationship with his family had always been similar -and therefore she had been absolutely broken-hearted when Leda had been killed- therefore she always told him when they were passing by. Strike was already busy texting Robin back. ' _You'll be welcomed for dinner, apparently someone else's coming over. We're on the road back home, Emily's behaving. Happy to enlighten your day, miss you already. C <3'_ Strike chastised himself for being so cheesy to put a heart, but he couldn't help it. The effort of not smiling was such, his brain didn't have capacity to also keep an eye on what he did or didn't do texting. Robin's replied arrived right away, as if she had been patiently waiting with her phone in her hands. _'Aw, can't wait to see you all! Will bring presents, for you too... ;) xoxo_ '. Strike gulped and wrote back ' _Can't wait! Tease xx_ '.

“Cormoran Strike immersed in texting!” Nick laughed, peeking at him as he stopped at a red-light. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend, who rambled about how electronics make the world worse?”

“Don't tell me they don't when every time you need to put the heater on you have to pull out the instructions book,” retorted Strike, making him guffaw. Ilsa sniggered behind them. “I'm just texting Robin to schedule for today, as she's coming later, right?”

“She's a good girl, Robin,” nodded Nick. “Nice, smart. Hopefully it'll rub on you.” Ilsa giggled at the comment and Strike rolled eyes.

“Yeah, she's pretty great,” Strike looked through the window. “Psychotherapist for human resources though, and we all know how well I deal with psychos.”

“Well, you do have one now that for what you said it's pretty nice, Yvette, right?” commented Ilsa.

“She's the exception to the rule,” Strike shrugged.

“Then perhaps she's not the only one,” replied Ilsa. “I at least adore Robin. She's welcomed home anytime, really, she's the nicest.”

“Make sure to tell her. Boost her ego,” Strike chuckled at his friend, and Ilsa rolled eyes but smiled.

“I'm just glad you've moved on from Charlotte.”

“Yes, she was a nightmare,” Nick nodded in agreement with his wife.

“She's married to that twat of his majesty the honourable Jago Ross,” Strike mocked, despite the only title of Jago Ross was Viscount of Croy. “So that boat's sailed.”

“You should try dating again,” said Nick, Ilsa humming in agreement. “Our friend is pretty cool, and she's pretty.”

“Yeah, and single,” added Ilsa. “Not nuts or anything.”

“Right guys, have you told her about my leg?”

“She knows,” Ilsa sighed. “She was with me when I found out myself. She's an old friend of mine from university, fellow lawyer, turns out Nick met her through a friend of his long ago and they were also friends, so she comes every now and then. Is like family. Nicole, it's her name.”

“Nick and Nicole, seriously?” Strike eyed his friend, who sniggered.

“Can't help my name is popular,” Nick shrugged.

“Anyway, I think she'd be a good match for you,” said Ilsa to Strike's ear.

“Don't you just want for her to be taken so you don't have to be jealous she's such a good friend of your husband?” teased Strike turning around. Ilsa gave him stern eyes and Nick giggled, amused.

“I'm not jealous,” Ilsa said defensively. “I just think she'd be a good influence on you.”

“I'm fine, Ilsa. Don't you two become my sister, I already have one to judge my life with disapproval and hope I could just get married already and raise children.”

The day at home was pretty boring. Ilsa was mostly sleeping most of the day, waking up now and then to care for Emily or do some yoga, and Nick hovered around caring for his girls, putting the laundry and cooking lunch, so Strike was left in charge of organising around a little or throw the trash to the containers outside in the street. Strike went to a session with Yvette in the afternoon and when he came back, Nick was cooking dinner with Emily wide awake in one of his arms, a towel thrown over his shoulder to protect his shirt from Emily's drooling, and Ilsa was up and sitting on a stool chatting animatedly with a pretty brunette.

“Hello, how was it?” Ilsa smiled at him as he entered the room, looking tired. Yvette had drilled into the depths of his brain with abandon for two hours straight.

“It was okay, hi,” he smiled soft at the unknown girl. “You must be Nicole, I'm Cormoran.” He offered his hand and she smiled and shook it.

“I've heard so much about you,” she said with a nice smile and sparkly green eyes. “Ilsa and Nick can only say good things about you.”

“Oh, that's just so I serve as a babysitter when they want privacy,” joked Strike, making her giggle softly. Ilsa blushed and took a sip from her cup of wine, avoiding an answer. “I thought you weren't supposed to drink?”

“I'm no longer pregnant,” said Ilsa, frowning lightly.

“But you're breastfeeding,” said Strike, matter-of-factly. Ilsa and Nicole exchanged amused looks.

“As much as it's amusing and rather endearing to see your concern,” said Ilsa. “It's okay for me to drink as long as I don't breastfeed Emily anymore for today, and for that we have bottles stored in the fridge.”

“Shit, that was _your_ milk?” Strike's eyes widened. Ilsa laughed.

“Of course, what did you think? Don't tell me you drank it.”

“I almost did,” Strike grumbled. “Put a note or something Ilsa, Jesus.”

“Breastfeed milk is actually super healthy,” commented Nick smartly. “Full of nutrients and all. Wouldn't do you harm.”

“I was already breastfeed once, thanks,” murmured Strike, making Nicole and Ilsa snigger.

“Actually Oggy, would you mind grabbing Emily for a moment?” petitioned Nick. “I need to head for the bathroom.”

“Okay,” said Strike, figuring that eventually he would have to do so, so better get it over with already. He took Emily carefully from Nick, who instructed him where to put his hands and her head, and looked at the newborn, who stared at him with surprised blue-green eyes. Her lips formed a small pout and her skin still looked reddish from the efforts of being born. “Hi.” Said Strike raising his eyebrows. The newborn was surprisingly light weight, and looked super small between his big arms and hands. Strike's nephews, he remembered, had been fatter.

“Aw, do you love Uncle Oggy, Em?” Ilsa chuckled at them.

“She's so cute,” said Nicole. “You're good with kids, Cormoran!”

“I'm actually trash, she's just too young to notice,” Strike shrugged.

“Nonsense, his middle nephew adores him,” said Ilsa looking at Nicole.

“Which is a weird fact whose scientific explanation hasn't been found yet,” replied Strike. “We'll just be on the sofa hanging out.” Said Strike, feeling tired. The little bundle in his arms proved to have the effect of a warm bottle and, as he adjusted her against his chest, sitting down and leaning himself against the pillows with his big hands protectively cupping the baby, he soon found out that her warmth was actually pleasing, and before he realised his eyes were falling asleep.

 

 

 


	17. Godfather kidnapping

Soon later, the doorbell rang and Nick, who was just passing by, opened the door and smiled seeing it was Robin.

“Hello!”

“Hi!” Robin chuckled, coming inside. It was no longer raining. “I brought something for you.” She added, giving Nick a little basket. He examined it curiously and chuckled.

“Thank you, Robin, you didn't have to, this is so sweet!” Inside there was a small teddy bear, a little colourful fabric book for Emily, massage oil, bath salts and a bottle of Scotch.

Nick guided Robin inside and into the kitchen room, where the girls were still chatting and quickly stood up to greet her. Ilsa was excited with Robin's gifts. Robin looked around for Cormoran.

“Where's the little one?” Robin dissimulated. “Did her Godfather take her out on a walk?” she added jokingly.

“He said he'd be in the sofa with her, weird he hasn't come say hi,” commented Ilsa.

“Shit, Emily must've ended him.” Added Nick. They went to the sitting room and Ilsa immediately shushed them.

“Shh! They're sleeping!” Ilsa hissed, whispered, entering the room, illuminated with just a dimly light from a lamp, the first one. “God, so cute!” she added pulling her phone to take a picture.

The room was filled with deep snoring noises and Strike was sitting asleep, with his head thrown back against the sofa, his curls going in all directions, and the baby asleep against his chest, one of her tiny fists grabbing onto one of Strike's fingers without being capable of closing fully around it. Robin had to use all her self-control not to go and kiss him senseless, because he was absolutely melting her insides. She supposed Yvette had exhausted Strike particularly that day.

“Let's not bother them, dinner's not ready yet,” whispered Nick, ushering them outside to the kitchen.

“So, Robin,” commented Nicole filling Robin's cup of white wine as Nick continued cooking. “Ilsa said you're a psychotherapist, how's that?” she asked with interest, looking sympathetic.

“Actually I work at human resources, so I basically just work on keeping the employees of the company happy,” explained Robin, sitting down with them on a stool. “I check recruiting policies, disciplinary policies, make propositions to improve the work environment, assist if any employee is dealing with something tough... since I have all the studies on psychology and psychotherapy, my bosses proposed to offer the employees free psychotherapy to keep them happy, help them deal with anxiety, stress, family issues... improving the productivity at the company. Hence, I also meet with one of the employees every now and then if they need anything.”

“Woah, seems so complex,” Nicole admired her and Ilsa smiled and nodded, looking like a proud sister at Robin. “You must be very well paid.”

“It does pay well, although the working hours are a bit extenuating at times, depending on each day's workload. Today it seemed eternal, couldn't wait to get out and come here.”

“You just got out now? So late, you must be knackered,” commented Nick. Robin nodded.

“Had a couple employees who were having a hard time at work. One is believed to be suffering bullying from another employee I'm trying to unmask, and another just lost a mother, and they're having issues concentrating and focusing, aside from some start of depression.”

“And the big bosses know all of that?” asked Ilsa. “Isn't it a bit invasive?”

“Oh, no, when they come into my office, they're patients and it's patient-psychotherapist confidentiality, nothing leaves my office,” Robin clarified. “All I have to report to my bosses is that we have a certain number of employees with a bit of a struggle and we're dealing with it. If necessary, I can even recommend gifting extra free days to those, because mental illness is as much of an illness as a pneumonia. And if it's something that directly affects the company, such as bullying, then yes, I have to report that a case of bullying has been detected and I'm working on it. The bosses pretty much leave me in charge, give me free range to take whichever actions I consider necessary.”

“So much power,” Nick chuckled. “God, those employees are lucky.”

“What company is it?” Nicole wanted to know. “It must be a big one.”

“Well, one of my employees is the Public Administration, and another is my family business, 'The Ellacott Farm & Equestrian Centres', for which I work in the Human Resources Department. Here in London we have the administrative headquarters, so essentially my big bosses are my own parents,” Robin happily explained. Nicole looked impressed. “Our employees spend their days working numbers out, organising events, organising the commercialization of our products, the payments of the classes, everything about the services our many establishments across England need... we have over five thousand employees just here so, obviously, there's a lot of people to keep in good spirits. We have a team of psychologists and all that, that's pretty fantastic, so I'm not alone in this.” She chuckled.

“No kidding, my sister is one of your riding teachers! She's in Mayfield.” Nicole said excitedly. “I thought that company was mostly focused on horses, didn't know there was even a farm.”

“Well, our farm is small so we only sell straight to clients, not through big stores. We have a webpage from which people can order, and we deliver to London and Yorkshire, so people can pick up products there or request them being sent by mail. Mostly, the business revolves around houses yes,” Robin nodded. “We have equestrian centres all across the map where people can learn to ride or acquire products, get informed, those things. It's complicated to manage it all, but our teachers are just so good. We even educate our own teachers sometimes, was that your sister's case?”

“Yeah,” Nicole nodded. “She's very happy to work there, and I'm happy she lets me ride a horse every now and then.” Robin chuckled.

“I'm glad. I don't personally know all the employees because there are billions, but I frequent the centres around London a lot when I miss the countryside. And you're a lawyer at Ilsa's firm, Nicole?”

“Yeah,” Nicole smiled. “We met way back in University, didn't we?” she chuckled at Ilsa. “Hit it off from the start. I specialise in Civil Rights, and Ilsa actually got me the job. I was living in Liverpool when she told me her firm needed someone of my field and she had gotten me an interview, so I came here and now it's been six years, doesn't seem like I'll ever leave.” Robin nodded, this time it was her turn to be impressed.

“Woah, sounds like a headache of a job,” said Robin with a sympathetic smile, making her giggle.

“At times it is, but I compare it with being a surgeon,” said Nicole. “It's rough and many days are just sad and disgusting, but when it goes well, it's the most gratifying.”

“Aw, that's pretty,” Robin chuckled. “I've never asked you Ilsa, what field of law do you cover?”

“Ugh, murders,” Ilsa pouted a little, and Nick sniggered. “Actually, I've got a double specialization in Criminal Law as well as Family Law. It's funny, because when I first started law, I wanted to specialise in international law and work for the government or something. But then, things with Leda's mum came to happen and it pissed me off so majorly that I drastically changed fields.” Robin frowned, taking more interest.

“How come?” asked Robin.

“Because the arsehole who shot her never went down for it,” explained Ilsa. “It was a source of major frustration for us all. The guy's lawyer pleaded mental illness, so they said 'oh, poor thing he's just nuts! Not his fault', and that was it. Not even an economical compensation, nothing. And Corm knew it was all a lie; the fan who shot her was an old-time stalker who might've been a little mental, but was obsessed with Leda and had planned this for long. Corm himself had to intervene a bunch of times so he stopped following him, Lucy, Leda... taking pictures of the flat, being a creep, creeping on Leda at work, sneaking in rehearsals... it was crazy. And he told the judge, but no one listened, not to him, not to poor Luce. So as I left the courtroom after those trials, all frustrated and angry, I turned to Corm and I said 'you know what? This won't happen under my watch'. And I immersed myself in the dark world of crime.”

“That's my girl,” Nick chuckled proudly at his wife, giving her heart-eyes. “Always a defender for justice.” Robin was impressed. She had never dared to read or ask the full story. Ilsa smiled at her husband and shrugged.

“Then as I studied crime, I saw how often family itself does it, and again, it reminded me of how affected Corm's family always was by Leda's failed relationships,” Ilsa figured either Robin had read everything about the family online, or Cormoran had told her already. “And I was so bold I was just like 'you know what, I'll take this too'. Can't tell you the amount of times I've worked for a father, a mother, sibling, to go to prison for bloody murder. Families are just the worst at times.”

“Amen,” Nicole nodded, cup of wine in her hand. Robin sighed, thinking of what her... lover? Boyfriend? Must've gone through.

“Then when Oggy got his leg blown,” added Nick, playfully. “Ilsa was too tired to take on military law.” He joked, making Ilsa and Nicole laugh. Robin was too consternated about Strike to laugh.

Once dinner was ready, Nick asked if anyone would go wake Strike up, so Robin offered. She walked quietly to the sitting room and smiled looking at Strike. He was completely passed out, and Emily seemed to be enjoying it. Robin, knowing how good it felt to sleep in his embrace, couldn't blame her. She carefully took Emily off Strike and cuddled her into her arms. Immediately, Strike jumped awake.

“Emily!” he barked, before he noticed she was safe in Robin's arms and he breathed out in relief and flopped back down, looking relieved. “When did you get here?” Robin smiled sweetly, caressing his cheek with a free hand. He kissed her palm.

“A while ago,” said Robin. “Are you alright? Recovering the sleep you didn't have last night?” Strike smiled small.

“What can I say, Emily works like drugs. I think I'm going to have to request her for all my naps.”

“Make sure not to say so in front of social services or the police,” Robin joked playfully, making him snort a laugh. “Did you talk about... your dreams with Yvette?” she asked tentatively. Strike nodded, fixing his eyes on Emily as he absent-mindedly scratched a hairy eyebrow.

“It's just my brain processing stuff,” Strike shrugged. “I'm fine. Is that dinner I'm smelling?”

“Yeah, it's ready, came just to wake you up.”

“Let's go then, I'm starved.”

They walked into the dining room and Ilsa took Emily off Robin, cuddling her into her arms lovingly.

“Did you enjoy napping with Uncle Oggy?” Ilsa whispered sweetly as she kissed the head of her baby. “This one is completely knackered, I'm going to put her in her crib.”

They waited until Ilsa came back downstairs to start eating, and Strike rubbed the sleep off his face with a hand before starting to eat. Ilsa, sitting next to him, smiled softly at him as she hugged his head with one hand buried in his curls and kissed his temple. She murmured something to his ear and he smiled and squeezed her hand over the table. Robin pretended not to notice and continued eating. The meal was filled with interesting conversation, laughter and fun, and Ilsa was the first to head up to bed, still exhausted from having given birth to a human being. Sensing Nick would probably love to snuggle up in bed with his girls -as they had seen in the baby monitor screen sitting on the table that Ilsa had done, grabbing the baby and snuggling together in bed- the others didn't take long to go too.

“Ah, lucky pair,” Dave sighed happily as they walked around the street.

Strike had decided to accompany his friends to the car. Robin waited until everyone had left in their cars so she and Strike were left alone, and looked at him with a smile, grabbing his shirt and pulling him in to kiss her as her back collided with the door of her Land Rover. Strike giggled against her lips, putting his hands on her hips, that Robin collided with his groin, teasing, as her arms surrounded his neck. They kissed and kissed until making out felt like the new oxygen, feeling like silly teenagers, until a motorbike passing by whistled at them and they separated, giggling and breathless and blushing.

“This was nice,” said Robin, caressing his face as their foreheads pressed together.

“Have I said already that you look gorgeous?” said Strike hoarsely. Robin giggled. It was a cold night, but they didn't feel cold at all.

“I don't know, perhaps you need to say it more often.”

“You're so pretty,” Strike kissed her, “just absolutely,” another kiss, “stunning,” he kissed the crook of her neck, and she bit back a moan, “I don't even know how I'm going to sleep tonight.”

“I give you permission to jerk off, only if it's thinking of me,” Robin giggled, bringing him in for another kiss. “I've missed you.”

“Me too,” Strike hugged her close. “Perhaps tomorrow I can visit you for lunch?”

“That'd be wonderful. Goodnight, sweet dreams.” Strike kissed her.

“The best ones,” he kissed her forehead. “Drive safely okay? And sleep well.”

And Strike waved until her car disappeared.

 

 


	18. Beaten

**Chapter 18:**

During the next few weeks, Strike and Robin spent every moment they could snuggled up in Robin's flat, often without much clothing, just chatting cuddled up in a blanket, kissing, sharing an ice-cream... and weeks seemed to pass swiftly, one date after another, with the secrecy of keeping it all away from their friends and family. A secrecy that, after about twelve-ish perfect dates and over a couple months of dating in secret, was starting to tire Robin off. Trying to hide things had become such a challenge Robin often felt like a dirty thing Strike had to hide away, like what they had was wrong.

“I'm not some whore to hide away!” Robin shouted as they argued in her kitchen one night. “And you were supposed to come to live here, is that still happening?”

“I know you aren't, I just need time Robin, I like it when a relationship is just two people and we leave the rest of the world outside!” said Strike exasperated, sitting on a stool by the kitchen island. “Robin, come on, of course I want to live with you, I'm just not sure we should now that we're involved. We'd be moving too fast for my lik...”

“Oh my God Cormoran you want to go slower than a snail!”

“This isn't fair, so what if I like to take my time? I like enjoying every minute with you! I have no rush!”

“Well, I like to walk around the park with my boyfriend without hiding, I like to kiss my boyfriend if we're having a romantic dinner in a restaurant without fear of being seen by our friends, I like living! And we're just hiding and hiding, as if what we're doing was wrong!”

“Do you really want the paparazzi stuck in your window all day uh?!”

“I will sue them if they try!”

“Yeah well I don't like having them...”

“Cormoran, stop!” Robin let a long sigh out, puffing in frustration. “Listen, I'm not doing this. I'm not going to be treated like an affair, like something wrong...”

“I'm treating you like a treasure who must be kept in a safe place,” Strike grumbled angrily, harshly. “The rest is all up in your head!”

“Well perhaps it is!” Robin sighed. “But really, Corm, what kind of living is it to be hiding constantly? At first it was fun, fine, but now? You literally made me hide on your closet the other day so Nick wouldn't catch me in your room, we weren't even kissing! You hid under the table when you saw my secretary come by into my office the other day when we were kissing! Corm, this is getting absolutely ridiculous and frankly, quite humiliating!”

“What if we just make a deal? We stay in secret but no one will force the other to do humiliating shit such as hiding in a closet,” Strike proposed desperately. Robin looked at him and shook her head, looking down.

“How much that's gonna last, two days?” Robin murmured, supporting her arse on the counter. “I just don't get it, Corm. Eventually this has to go public, what does it matter sooner or later? The sooner it is, the sooner we'll get used to it. Or are you going to hide it until we're married?”

“Married? Who said marriage?” Strike panicked.

“Come on, this has got to be going somewhere... To me, marriage is a goal in the end, right?” Robin looked worried at his expression. “I mean, in several years, not like now! But if things go well, that's where it'll go right?” Strike shook his head, deciding it was better not to go down that line.

“Look, Robin,” he got up and took her hands in his. “You mean so much to me, I care about you and you're very special to me. I want us to stay together for as long as possible... but I'm sorry, I can't deal with people lurking in our relationship right now. I admit things have sometimes gotten ridiculous and humiliating, and I'm sorry, and I promise to do my best so those things don't happen again, but I've had my whole life exposed online, you don't know how that feels like but I guarantee you it fucking sucks, and I don't want this exposed to. You're the most precious thing I have, excuse me if I want to keep it to myself just a little longer.” Robin pouted, caressing his stubbly face.

“Baby, I adore you. You mean the world to me, you do, and I want to be with you, and I'm listening, and I understand, but I don't see how it's going to hurt to tell at least Nick and Ilsa? Perhaps Lucy? Just them, no one else has to know. It's just... I'd like to touch you and kiss you instead of repressing it every time they're around, which is pretty much always, I'd like to be able to snuggle in bed with you in your bed, okay, no sex at the Herberts, but at least being together. It just seems like it's so difficult to be with you when it can only be in the privacy of my office, my flat, a dark corner in a restaurant, your office. We have to juggle every time we want as much as hold hands, that's what I'm sick of, only that. Please, just them three.”

“Great, so it will just be standing comments about when's the wedding or the children all the time,” Strike puffed, moving away. “Awesome. And being teased all the fucking...”

“If you don't like them doing those things perhaps you should talk to them, they're your family for fuck's sakes!”

“Can we just stop fucking arguing already?” Strike grew impatient. “I'm tired of this shit!”

“We wouldn't be arguing if you were reasonable instead of paranoid.”

“Ah, great, now I'm paranoid,” Strike let a harsh dry laugh out, sitting back on the stool. “What is a person who'd rather break up and not have anything at all than having a secret relationship?” he inquired.

“I never said I want to break-up,” Robin looked down. “Cormoran, running away doesn't fix the fear of the thing. Sooner or later, you need to stop being so paranoid about no one knowing what's going on in your life, you do it literally with everything, not just with me. You don't even want anyone to know about your nightmares, even though I bet everyone's noticed you have them. You need to let people in, open up a little.”

“I don't see what for,” grumbled Strike. “My mum was always open and sharing with her fans and one of them wound-up shooting her death in the middle of a concert, which proofs that opening up just makes you vulnerable. The sanest thing is to keep this happy bubble, Robin. Isolate this beautiful thing we have so the rest of the world cannot corrupt it. Be it just you and me, isn't that poetic?” he looked up at Robin.

“It was,” Robin looked sadly at him. “But now is just paranoic and nuts. I'm too much of a busy person to be constantly anxious about being seen, and I'm too affective to have to hold myself back every single second. Cormoran, I care about you, I truly do... and I don't think this is healthy for any of us. I can't do this, not this way. I need you to change that attitude. Didn't you have a fiancée before? That was normal, right? Why can't we...?”

“That was absolutely crazy,” said Strike harshly, taking her aback. “That was public from the first kiss and everyone was making me nuts chiming it, giving opinions no one asked for, hating on her and resenting me for wanting her. No. I'm sorry Robin, but this is my last word on it, I will not make public a relationship that hasn't been going on for less than, at least, six months.”

“Six months?”

“Take it or leave it,” murmured Strike, standing up. His heart was storming in his chest, and Robin fell her eyes fill with tears.

“Are you going to move in here at any point then?” asked Robin emotionally. “Or should I start looking for someone else? We both know Ilsa and Nick don't need you anymore, Ilsa's family is there and so are the Herberts... If you moved in, we could keep this in secret... I don't know six months, but I could meet you halfway? Make it three? Four? It would be easier.”

Strike shrugged.

“It sounds really good,” he murmured. “The problem is, I'm not ready, Robin. I'm just now starting a business, I'm feeling independent and confident again and I missed so much being independent... I think I would love to get a place for myself. But that would do too, right? You could come over... We'd have one more place to be together. I'm sorry Robin but you're pressuring me too much and I simply can't go so fast.”

“Fast, he says,” Robin puffed air. “I just feel like here it's always what you say and you're not even considering my opinion. I just have to do whatever you say or else, we'd break up.”

“Come on, don't be unfair...”

“Unfair?!” Robin shouted. “Cormoran, when has it been the way I wanted! When have we done one thing my way! Never! It's always what you say and I'm always biting my tongue and fucking myself because I don't want to lose you and you don't care about whatever I...”

“Of course I care about your opinion!”

“No, you don't! We meet where you say when you say, so no one else sees, I screw it up for months and do things your way and you're not willing to give in even slightly! Hell, can we at least go public for the Herberts? Just them!” Strike's face said it all. “You know what, just get out.”

“Robin, come on...”

“No, Cormoran. Four years ago I was raped by some arsehole and I lost the ability to make my own decisions and feel safe, three years ago I married the man I loved, and I've just divorced after spending years standing someone else thinking they owned me and managing me as they pleased! I want for my opinion to count, I want for it to be heard, considered, and sometimes accepted, and I refuse to keep being someone's girl to do with what he wants,” Robin was completely furious and frustrated. “You're being selfish, and I've just divorced someone who only thought of himself and would never give in and have things my way, I'm not about to date someone who does the exact same!”

“Don't you compare me with that twat!”

“I honestly don't see much of a difference!” Robin shouted back. “So please,” she let a sob out. “Get out. We'll work on being just friends but right now I can't even look at you.”

Strike couldn't move with his prosthesis fast enough and soon Robin was locked in her room, then Strike heard loud music inside to shut down his pleas, and he heard the shower of her en suite bathroom running. Battered and crestfallen, Strike left.

 


	19. Leap of faith

**Chapter 19:**

For days, Strike and Robin didn't talk and didn't meet. They didn't even text. Strike sank in his bed most of the days and pretended his crestfallen mood was just exhaustion from Yvette and his leg, assuring Yvette was taking care of him. Ilsa didn't quite gulp it, but she accepted she was not going to get another word from it. However, when Robin also seemed grumpy and uninterested on hearing about Strike, she started finding things rather strange. So one day as Emily napped, Ilsa knocked on Strike's bedroom and found him lying in bed without his prosthesis, staring at the ceiling.

“Hey,” Ilsa smiled softly, sitting on the verge of the bed. “What's wrong?” Strike took a deep breath, shuddered and shook his head. Yvette had said that perhaps he had boycotted his own relationship because he was so afraid of suffering in the way Charlotte had made him suffer or Leda's partners had done to her. He was so afraid, so chickened, that even thought his heart wanted nothing more than Robin, his mind was decided to boycott it if it got too serious. If he got too invested. Now, he had a lump in his throat and he felt like shit. He had been advised to embrace happiness fearlessly, but he just couldn't. What if something happened to Robin because she was dating him, like his mother had been shot? Or what if his heart broke again? He had just survived Charlotte's heart-break, he didn't want it again.

“Nothing,” he grumbled.

“Don't give me that bullshit,” Ilsa lied on bed next to him. “Is it about mum?” she observed his expression. “Is about women then,” Strike's pupils did the slightest movement. “Oh, it is!”

“What the fuck, what are you?” Strike gave her a offended glare, and she chuckled.

“A mum. Okay, spit it out. What has Charlotte done now?”

“Nothing!” Strike shook his head. Before he knew it, he was telling her up to the last drop about Robin. When he finished, Ilsa looked at him deep in concentration.

“Well now I know, you can tell her that,” Strike sighed rolling eyes. “Cormoran, how would you feel if we were kids and I only wanted to play with you at home but at school I pretended not to know you?”

“Like you're a bitch.”

“And what kind of women do you only touch in their work and their homes and don't want anyone to see you with outside?”

“Whores,” Strike breathed out. Ilsa nodded.

“See it yet?” Strike puffed.

“Yes...”

“Is that simple. One thing is secrecy, but when it's been over two months, it's like a whore. She's there to relieve you at night, and that's it. You can't call that a relationship.”

“What about our dates?”

“Buying the whore,” said Ilsa simply. Strike grunted.

“I hate when you're right. But I just can't change things because...” and he told her about Yvette. In the end, Ilsa looked conflicted like him. She let a long sight out and for a moment, she didn't say anything. “See my conundrum. I couldn't do things differently even if I wanted to, I'm just always going to be afraid.”

“Cormoran...” Ilsa bit her lip for a moment, thoughtful. “Remember when we were little and at school there was this corridor in an area no longer used, that kids told legends about saying that there were ghosts there? That way the older kids kept us all scared. So we never went close in the slightest, but then Lucy started having nightmares about the stories.”

“Yes...”

“And we got so worried about her that we decided to us three confront the fear and just go there. We wound up discovering it was an ordinary corridor with some storage rooms of school books and school material, and that in the end there was a classroom that was only used for the classes of older kids. There was nothing ghostly about it.”

“Yeah,” Strike nodded. “So?”

“So you will always be scared unless you face it.”

“Really? Because I see myself panicking for my entire relationship about whether someone's going to come and creep around her and shoot her dead.”

“Cormoran, God, how many times has anyone threatened Lucy or Lucy's family's lives? How many time has anyone gone up to her, just because she's the daughter of Leda Strike, since she died?”

Strike thought about it.

“None, but when we were little...”

“When Leda was alive. When getting a photo of her children was magazine worthy,” said Ilsa looking softly at him. “Come on, now you're thirty-three and thirty-one, boring and old news for them. The paparazzi no longer hover around. When you were engaged to a socialité, that was one thing, but Robin... she is not harassed either. And if you're going to worry about her getting killed, well, everyone can get killed anytime. Cars, trains, tube... only in the public transport you may die. Illness, earthquake, storm, crime... death is easy. But if you're always worried about it, how are you going to live? If we all chickened out, Emily wouldn't be alive, and neither would be you and I. For many years in the army, you've been brave to die, now it's time to be brave to live. Not go around boycotting the little things that make life worth-living just because they might break your heart. You've suffered before and came back... you'll do time and time again... or maybe Robin will be the reason you never have to do it again.”

“When did you become so wise?” asked Strike, snuggling against her like a child. She stroke his hair with a little smile.

“While you got ready to die in the front, I had to learn to live,” Ilsa shrugged, pulling him close and nuzzling her nose in his hair. “I too took a leap of faith when I left my fiancé to give Nick a second chance and look at us and the beautiful little human we've created. It was scary, sure... but best things in life are terrifying. Then you wake up one day and find out that with those leaps of faith you've made your home and that home feels safe and secure and happy.”

Strike lied against her chest for a moment, before resolve emerged in his chest.

“How would you like to go to the karaoke?”

 


	20. I wanna love you the right way

**Chapter 20:**

**[A/N: The song used is originally Ron Pope's and it's all his talent and skills, not mine nor Cormoran's. But we're going to play pretend. All rights belong to Ron Pope and I'm definitely making 0 pennies with this.]**

Weeks previously, Robin had invited them all to an event her company was organising in order to raise money for a children's charity and for an animal charity. It had been before the fight, and Strike hadn't planned to go, but now it was his plan. Robin had always wanted to hear him play the guitar, but he had always felt too shy, except that this time, he had something ready for her. Music was, as Leda had always told him, the key for the heart, and although it had taken him every ounce of energy to write his first song ever, he was happy.

Strike put on a dark blue three piece suit with a dark tie and got ready for the charity event, leaving his room when he was all done, with his guitar hung in its case over his shoulder.

“All ready?” asked Strike anxiously. His best friends were just giving last-minute instructions to Nick's parents, that would be taking care of the little one for the night. Ilsa was wearing a gorgeous long dress and Nick was also very elegant in his suit.

“Yeah,” Nick looked up at him. “What are you doing with his guitar?”

“Oh,” Strike realised he hadn't told them. “Robin knows I play every now and then and she managed to convince me to play tonight, since it's for charity. There'll be several bands playing and anyone who also wishes to play is invited to do so, so Robin squeezed me in for one song. Apparently she's told all her mates at work I'm the next John Lennon or something.” It wasn't a lie. Robin just probably wasn't expecting him anymore.

“That's cool, haven't heard you in a while,” Nick chuckled.

“Right,” Ilsa smiled knowingly at Strike. He hadn't told her his plans, but she just smelled something.

After an all too long round of last kisses to the baby, Ilsa, who wouldn't be drinking anyway so she could be ready to babysit Emily any time when they got home, drove them to the event at an enormous local the company had rented for the occasion. There, they met with Lucy and Greg, who were also elegant and dying for a beer.

“Cheers to our first night out without Emily,” Nick toasted to his wife, once they had drinks.

“It's taking me all the willpower not to go back,” Ilsa recognised. “But we could use the break though.” Nick nodded in agreement. They were standing between the multitude and Robin suddenly appeared, dressed with an incredible emerald dress that made Strike's jaw drop. “Robin, you look amazing!”

“Thanks,” Robin chuckled. “You guys are very, very gorgeous too,” Robin's eyes barely settled on Strike, but he saw her blush the millisecond they passed through him. “I'm pretty much in charge today, although my family is also around if you see them,” she gestured to the multitude spreading between tables, dancing area, and around a big stage. “Excuse me one moment, I'll be right back. Get comfortable and eat and all you want.” She smiled big and walked towards the stage.

“She's smokin' hot,” Nick looked at Strike. “How come you haven't banged her yet?”

“Nicholas!” Ilsa chastised.

“Sorry, love, I'm just surprised, given our friend's reputation.” Ilsa rolled eyes and chuckled, shaking her head.

“Between you and I, Nick,” murmured Strike. “Believe me right now I'm dying to bang her.” Nick laughed, but Strike was dead serious.

“Good evening, ladies and gentleman,” Robin was suddenly speaking into a microphone on stage and everyone quieted down to hear her. She looked radiant with her long dress and her hair down in golden waves. “I'm Robin Ellacott, and I'm one of the organisers of this whole thing so let me steal a minute of your time to speak what this is about. As you know, this is a charity event, and all the money that's made here will be donated in its totality to the charities for children and the poor announced on the posters and flyers you can see here and there,” she gestured vaguely around. “All the food tonight has been donated for the good cause and our performing artists tonight aren't being paid, so let's be kind to them,” she added with a cheeky smile, getting some giggles around from some who were already drunk. “My family has donated fifty thousand pounds to set the bar high, and I'm crossing fingers that tonight between all of you we manage to double that up. Tonight we'll held auctions of packages of products from our company, we're selling shirts and other things from the charities, we have some bands that have donated to be here and advertise themselves, same with food providers, we're selling tickets for a raffle of a cruise for two to the Caribbean,” cheering. “Just be attentive, there are many things going on. Lastly but not less importantly, we have right here,” she pointed to a wall next to the scenario, in which there was a crack as if the wall was a postbox. “A piggy-bank. Everyone who doesn't have much money but wants to leave some cash, or who doesn't want to buy but wants to donate, you all can put money here, you'll have to show it to our checker to make sure nothing dangerous goes in there, but everyone is free to put as little as they want. Now I'm going to shut up and leave you to enjoy our first artists of the night, ladies and gentlemen welcome 'The Dealbreakers!'”

There was a lot of cheering and applauding as a band that wasn't Strike's cup of tea took the scenario. Robin came back and chatted and danced with them for a bit before marching to attend other guests. Strike tried to get a moment with her and went after her, finally cornering her as she exited the bathroom.

“Robin!”

“Cormoran,” she said coldly. “I'm rather busy, if you'll excuse me...” she made to go but Strike stood in the middle.

“I don't,” Robin glared at him. Strike gulped nervously. “Robin, I need you to listen.”

“You didn't listen to me, why would I listen to you?”

“Because I'm sorry,” said Strike. “Because I want to be with you. Because I want to do better.”

Robin laughed bitterly.

“Thing is, Cormoran, I've heard it all before. You're next,” she added, pointing to the stage, as the current band was just finishing up.

Next thing Robin was walking to the stage as the musicians bid farewell to their public, and Strike put his best bulldog face, following without much enthusiasm.

“Are you having fun?” Robin asked to the public, being met with an enthusiastic 'YES!' and a lot of whistling. “Now, I've got something else for you guys. He's not a professional and chances are you've never head him, so let's be extra nice, but I assure you he's got the talent in the blood. Let's give a warm welcome to...” she eyed Strike, supposing introducing him as 'Cormoran Strike' would be too daring, as everyone would immediately relate him to Leda. He mouthed 'Cormoran!' from the side of the stage. “Cormoran!”

Even though he was no one even slightly known, there was enthusiastic applause and cheering and Robin handed Strike the microphone wishing good luck without meeting his eyes. Strike sighed and put his guitar in place, smiling at the public. He had already told the musicians that were in the back to accompany the bands the song he'd be singing and handed them music sheets.

“Hello everyone,” saluted Strike.

“HELLO CORMORAN!” he was replied, making him chuckle, even if many had said 'Cameron'.

“Okay now this only looks a little like addicts meetings,” Strike joked, making his public giggle. He passed a hand nervously through his hair. “As Robin said, I've never really performed in front of an attentive public and I'm basically only here because she made me promise I would be so uh... I've written a song for tonight, I've not really written anything ever before,” there was cheering and applause and Strike chuckled at the public's antics. He saw Robin was drinking a pint standing next to his friends, Lucy, Greg and her brothers, looking cautious at him, and somewhat surprised. “Thing is, I suck at words, everyone who knows me knows it, I'm shit. But uh, sometimes, when I'm playing around with the guitar... they sort of seem to flow, so I hope you like it, and that if you don't, we can all remember it's for charity,” he smiled and people laughed. “This song is called 'The right way' and... it's for someone who deserves to have all the right things in the rightful way, for someone I've never quite told the things they should know. And for all of those who have a bit of a difficult time to know how to live life. Thank you.” He had locked eyes with Robin and he saw her gulp and freeze a little as he prepared.

Strike started playing his guitar with the drummer and another guitarist accompanying him.

“When you undress, I just can't keep my hands off of you,” he blushed. “You look so small, all wrapped up in my arms, I'm so... in love with you.” He saw Robin's eyes widen as she blushed and he smiled small. “And I'm yours if you're mine. Don't wanna waste no more time!” the rest of the support band joined in. Strike's voice was warm, deep and soft. “'Cause I wanna live, and I wanna love you the right way...! And I wanna fall asleep, then wake up with you beside me... I won't spend the rest of my life, running from everything it's right, I wanna live!” Strike thought he saw Robin hide a small smile into her glass. Everyone seemed happy with the song and some had lifted their phone screens up and were moving them like torches. Strike saw Nick chuckle at the rest of their group and murmured something and they all, even Robin, pulled their phones up and imitated the multitude, looking supportive at him. Strike was so shy his ears felt hot and he knew they were red. “I ripped your dress, in the frenzy to get, close to your skin, yes I did,” Robin shook her head, smiling, as the group giggled and Strike smiled looking at her. “You tried not to laugh, stood there in your slip, you said: Come here to me. I'm yours if you're mine... Don't wanna waste no more time! 'Cause I wanna live, and I wanna love you the right way...! And I wanna fall asleep and wake up with you beside me... I won't spend the rest of my life, running from everything it's right, I wanna live!” People were realising where he was looking, and looking at Robin, who blushed harder. He spoke almost as if he was speaking to her privately. “I'm yours if you're mine. Don't wanna waste no more time!” Strike stood up. “'Cause I wanna live, and I wanna love you the right way...! I wanna fall asleep and wake up with you beside me... I won't spend the rest of my life, running from everything it's right, I wanna live! Oh I wanna live, and I wanna love you the right way! And I wanna fall asleep then wake up with you beside me... I won't spend the rest of my life, running from everything it's right, I wanna live...”

Strike realised Robin had murmured something to Stephen and he was the one waiting to introduce the next group while Strike got an enthusiastic cheering and applause, and lots of whistling. Strike thanked his public and shyly passed by Stephen, who smiled knowingly and patted his shoulder. Seemingly, the secret was all out. When he reached the multitude, he could barely pay attention to the compliments. His eyes had locked with Robin's at the deep of it all, standing with the others, and behind her Ilsa was giving him a knowing smile and raising eyebrows while sipping her juice. But it was Robin's eyes that made his heart catch in his throat. She was giving him an almost daring look and her blue-grey eyes nailed in his dark green ones, an almost imperceptible smile drawn in her lips, a blush covering her freckled cheeks and ears, and pupils dark and dilated. She put her pint on a high table around with the group was standing, and walked towards him full of decision and purpose. Strike felt his throat go dry as he approached her too, and barely had time to see Robin's eyes move to his lips for a second, before she was kissing him right on the lips, pulling him towards her with her arms almost aggressively, making him moan into the kiss and put his arms around her, their bodies pressing together. Strike kissed back with such enthusiasm he lifted her off the ground and felt her giggle into the kiss, as some people whistled and cheered.

Strike and Robin were so lovey-dovey and immersed in their mutual fascination for each other, that the expected teasing barely passed them by. They danced together, hugging as they rocked around the dance-floor, whispering nothings to each other's ears in the darkness only illuminated by colourful lights swirling from the ceiling and the stage lights.

“I hope you don't mind I still don't move in just yet,” murmured Strike, kissing her forehead as they danced. She was calm and peaceful between her arms, and if they weren't moving, Strike would almost think her asleep. “I haven't worked all my issues yet, but Yvette and I are working on it.” He felt her nod against his shoulder, her fingers travelling across his skull. “I just want you to know that I love you,” he whispered against her ear, “that I want it all with you, everything... and that if you're patient with me, I promise it'll be worth it. I'm going to listen to you, and I'm going to meet you halfway instead of always demanding things my way, and I'm going to learn to do things better, because you deserve it all.” Robin looked up at him sweetly and her lips brushed his.

“I'm so in love with you, Cormoran Blue Strike,” he smiled smugly and their lips met again.

 

 


	21. Bleeding

**Chapter 21:**

Strike woke up to a light sniggering and he smiled opening his eyes and being met with all the sunlight coming through the windows.

“What's so funny?” asked Strike, amused. He felt Robin's weight on him before her face appeared hovering over him, grinning.

“Nothing. I'm just so lucky,” she beamed, leaning down to kiss him. Strike put his arms around her naked form and rolled over to be on top of her, nudging into her entrance. Robin chuckled, surprised. “Already?”

“Full of stamina, me,” Strike kissed her again, and entered her.

**. . .**

“Nick's suggesting drinks tomorrow night,” said Strike reading from his phone as he watched over cooking potatoes on the frying pan in front of him.

“Sounds cool,” replied Robin, drying her hair and tiptoeing to kiss him. He could hardly feel his lips anymore, but he couldn't bring himself to mind. “We've been locked in here for two days, we could use some fresh air.” Robin sniggered, kissing his bare chest.

“You won't hear me complain,” said Strike nuzzling into her neck. “Fine, we'll go attend our friends...” Robin laughed, and Strike grinned at the sound.

“You're so silly...”

“Just for you, babe.”

“Technically you still live with them,” said Robin moving away from the temptation of his lips to set the table. “So you still should you know, see them.”

“I know another pair I'm always happier to see,” teased Strike, shamelessly nailing his eyes on Robin's breasts, covered by a thin jumper. Robin followed his eyes and threw him a pillow.

“Pervert!” she laughed. Strike smiled and turned off the stove.

“What do you think if while you set this in the table I go quickly throw the trash? After two days it's starting to smell too much for me to enjoy food,” said Strike, throwing on a t-shirt and grabbing the bags of trash.

“Alright,” Robin chuckled at him. “Sexy, smart, skilled, writes me songs, beautiful voice, cooks, is neat and clean _and_ throws the trash. When did I get so lucky?”

“Just what you deserve,” Strike leaned to kiss her and smiled at her before leaving the flat with two bags in each hand. It was incredible the amount of trash that accumulated when you didn't leave your flat in two days and were constantly asking take-out so you could have sex while the food got ready and arrived.

Robin lived in the attic floor of a small building of a series of identical copies in Lambeth Road, Elephant & Castle, in front of some gardens in which there was a war museum. He didn't have to walk long to find the big trash containers and throw the bags in, which was why he hadn't minded going out in his pyjamas and slippers, with his prosthesis and without a phone or even the keys. Robin could open for him. He was just turning around to go back home -he felt the hair in the back of his neck rise at the prospect of thinking of Robin as his home- with a big smile in his face remembering the nice fucking he had given Robin in the shower an hour previously, when he heard a girl scream.

“Help!”

It was very late at night -they had really spent the day fucking and didn't feel hungry until it was the wee hours of a new day- and it was very dark, so it was hard to see, but Strike could've sworn something had moved behind the bushes at the other side of the road, in the park.

“Hello?!” Strike roared to make himself heard. A scream of agony cut the air and Strike ran the best he could with his leg, crossing Lambeth Road and entering the park. It was fenced and with a closed gate, but it was so low Strike, even with his leg, had no problem passing over it.

He rushed hearing sounds of combat, and behind some bushes, he found a young girl on the grass, unconscious and with blood on her face, being dragged away by a dark figure with a hoodie.

“HEY!” Strike shouted. The figure looked up, dropped the girl and, seeing it was only Strike, with his pyjamas and looking everything but dangerous, so the figure ran to him and Strike punched him straight on the nose, seeing the hoodie fall off and reveal a middle-aged, clean-shaved man, and they started a fight.

As they fought, they wrestled across the ground, punching each other wherever they could, until Strike felt a strong punch on his stomach that doubled him over. When he looked down at where his hands had grasped to point of hit, he saw they were covered with blood and the guy was standing up.

“HEY!” Strike heard Robin shout. He was feeling cold and clammy and knew he was bleeding too much, so he used his fingers to introduce them in the wound, detect where blood was pouring so hard from, and press hard. He had gotten that kind of training in the army. “GET OFF! POLICE IS COMING!”

The figure ran and Strike, who was seeing double, saw enough to see he didn't go to Robin, although Robin had a long polo stick and she went to hit the guy, successfully colliding the end of the stick with his head and making him collapse on the ground. Robin then nailed a good kick to his head just to make sure it was passed out, kicked the knife far from him, and ran to Strike.

“Cormoran!” Robin saw the blood and Strike's clammy face illuminated by a street lamp, saw he was trying to speak, and she put her hands over his to pressure against the wound. “Don't worry, I called 999. They're on their way.” She looked at the girl. “Hey! You! Are you alright?!” The other girl slowly rolled face up from the ground and looked disoriented at Robin.

“What the...?”

“Stay there okay? Don't move. The ambulances will be right here in no time.” Robin used the hoodie she had thrown onto herself before running out of the flat to cover Strike's hands over the wound and put pressure herself.

“Use your...” Strike's voice came weakly. He was overwhelmed with how much it actually hurt. “Fingers... Inside... inside...” Robin looked confused but then she understood. She had attended plenty of veterinary emergencies with the horses, including births, and although Strike wasn't a horse, she could do the task at hand. She moved a hand under the hoodie, found Strike's fingers, and blindly felt the spot where blood was coming out of. She pressed there and he slid his hands out and tried to focus on his breathing.

“Hold in there love, it'll be alright,” Robin encouraged him, seeing how pale he had gotten. She looked around seeing the attacker hadn't moved from the ground, and heard the sirens coming. It'll all be over soon.

 


	22. The savior

**Chapter 22:**

Three days later, Strike lied in a hospital bed. The doctors had put him in coma so he could recover, but now he was out of it and was in and out of conscience, mostly asleep most of the day, in pain. Robin, Nick, Ilsa, Lucy and Greg did turns so he was never left alone for five minutes even. This time, they were all there, except for Greg, who was caring for his children, as it was night time and they had school the next day, and Robin's parents had arrived all worried to visit, along with Ted and Joan. They were all sitting around a coffee table on sofas in Strike's room, near his bed, eating some take-out for dinner that Nick and Ted had brought.

“How did you know he was in trouble?” asked Joan looking at Robin.

“He had gone to throw the trash,” explained Robin. “There's a container right outside my door, it takes five minutes. When he took longer, I peeked through the window, see if he had maybe fallen with the leg or something.” She sounded tired and weak. “I saw the park right in front and thought I saw people wrestling. I couldn't distinguish Cormoran from a third floor but I knew if there was trouble, he would've gone to help out, so I called 999 and ran downstairs and saw them. Hit the attacker with a pole stick.”

“What were you doing with a pole stick in London?” asked Lucy with a curious frown.

“I frequently drive to see the horses in any of our equestrian centres, and sometimes we play pole,” Robin shrugged. Lucy nodded in understanding.

“Knocked a lad out with a pole stick,” Lucy raised her eyebrows. “Impressive.”

“Hardcore,” added Ted, and Robin blushed, looking at Strike. He seemed peaceful, although he was starting to do some weird faces, like frowning lightly or wrinkling his nose, as the painkillers washed away.

Strike was nude under the sheet, that it was at hip's height, revealing a white patch of bandage relatively small covering the actual stab wound in the lower right side of the stomach, and a larger one next to it where surgeons had had to cut to fix him, as the knife had pinched an artery. He was a bit swollen, as it was normal post-surgery, but otherwise fine. The doctors had said he had been so lucky, since he had been able to self-apply pressure from second one right in the spot so his abdominal cavity didn't fill with loads of blood and so he didn't lose as much as he quickly could've. The fact that Robin had been able to help right away too was just twice the luck.

As Robin stared at him, Strike groaned and she got up immediately and leaned over the bed, with one hand on the bed railing and the other on his forehead, seeing him frown and sight.

“Is he awake?” whispered Lucy, anxiously standing up.

“I think he'll be pretty soon,” replied Robin.

“In that case, I'll go fetch the doctor,” announced Nick, putting his food down and rushing outside the room in search of Strike's surgeon.

Strike's eyelids opened slowly, then suddenly shut close, as if blinded by the light, and then opened again, blinking slowly. Robin's lips curved into a soft, small smile, as she saw the pupils quickly moving until they landed on her, and his expression of disgust softened, and his lips curved upwards just a bit.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hi,” Robin caressed his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Hurts like hell,” grumbled Strike. “Feel better now that I see you though.” Robin chuckled, shaking her head. There was movement behind her and the rest of the clan appeared and surrounded the bed. “Heya.”

“It's nice to see you awake,” Lucy smiled in relief. “Is it too bad?”

“Meh,” Strike half-shrugged. “The leg was off. Oi,” he suddenly remembered, “there was a girl there, think he might've raped her?” he looked at Robin, who shook her head.

“She's alright. Her name is Hayley, she's fourteen. Got off the bus late from a party, she just had to walk by the park two minutes and she'd be right home,” Robin explained. “She said suddenly this guy who seemed to be putting things into the trunk of his car, grabbed onto her and tried to put her into the trunk, police thinks he would've raped her and probably murdered her. She fought and managed to run off to the park, but the other guy was faster and took her down. She started screaming, trying to get him off her, and then she says it all went dark, police found blood in the handle of the knife, so they think he hit her on the head with it. She's got a mid-concussion and the scare, but she's otherwise fine, came around a lot, she's very grateful of you. Her parents came with her a few times and offered money and all, but I told them they should better invest it on a therapist for her.”

Strike nodded slowly.

“Glad she's alright,” said Strike. “I heard her screaming, that's why I went. I saw her down, thought he had already done it. It was all so dark, could barely see a thing. So they're neighbours?”

“Yeah,” Robin nodded. “I hadn't realised before, but she's actually the daughter of a man who works with me, we usually go home together. He'd told me he had a daughter, but I'd never seen her.”

“She's been bloody lucky,” Ilsa sighed, putting a hand on her lower stomach absent-mindedly with her daughter in mind. “Guy is arrested at least, Robin knocked him out with a pole stick.” She added amused. Strike raised his eyebrows high in surprise and looked at Robin.

“Did you?” Robin blushed at his admiration. “Oh my God, a veteran couldn't with him and you go and knock him out – with a fucking pole stick.” Strike couldn't help but giggle, despite the pain. “That's gonna be a terrific anecdote in prison.”

“You were disarmed and with the prosthesis, that you're still just getting used to,” Robin said in his defence. “I saw him from the window and knew to be prepared. Scared him off with shouting and when he went to run past me, I swung the stick like dad taught me to do in golf.” Michael laughed.

“Glad you put the knowledge to good use,” he said patting his daughter's back. “Wish I'd seen it, must've been iconic.”

“Well, actually, I don't think I fully knocked him up,” said Robin. “I just kicked his head afterwards as hard as I could, had my sports shoes on so...” she shrugged, as the others laughed.

“That explains why he's got a major concussion. That might not play in our favour though, he could say he doesn't remember anything in trial. Although there are three witnesses, which is a lot to shut up so...” reflected Ilsa.

“Besides,” added Ted. “There had to be security cameras, isn't there a museum right next? Perhaps they caught something. I'm sure the police is checking it out.”

Strike groaned as he felt a bit of sharp pain and right on cue the door opened and a male, tall doctor with grey hair, entered followed by Nick. He smiled politely at the group.

“Hello, I'm Doctor Bernard, I'm your general surgeon and doctor in charge of your case, it's great to see you awake,” he looked happily at Strike.

“So I've been told, how long have I been...?”

“Three days in induced coma at the ICU,” explained Doctor Bernard, checking the machines and the catheters, IV entries and IV bags. “We were just lowering certain meds so you started waking-up. How are you feeling?”

“Save for quite the pain,” said Strike. “Pretty great.”

“That's superb, let me just make the dose of painkillers a bit higher, although it cannot be too much, or the excess of meds will compromise other organs. Best is to keep you at a level where there's not a lot of discomfort, but still feel a slight bit. How high is your pain threshold?”

“Pretty high, you've seen my leg, I was awake when that happened,” replied Strike. The doctor nodded, adjusting a valve that regulated the amount of liquid that dropped from a bag of what Strike assumed was his pain-killing medication, into the tube that went into his left wrist.

“In that case, you shouldn't be feeling much, if it becomes enough to annoy you even if just slightly, let me know alright?” he pointed to a button near the bed. “Press this and a nurse will come right away, they'll page me.”

“Good, thanks.”

“And this is alright, isn't it?” the doctor carefully patted around the bandages, checking there was no blood or nothing pouring out. “Perfect. You should be feeling less pain soon, anything else, let me know. By the way, common secondary effects from the painkillers are drowsiness and being sleepy, it's fine if you sleep a ton.”

“Thank you,” said Strike. The doctor left and Strike, already feeling more comfortable, was deep asleep in seconds, snoring away splashed in bed. It was the most comfortable he had ever been in a hospital bed.

In fact, Strike slept so deeply that at three in the morning, when only Robin was left in the room and it was quiet and dark, he was still asleep, but it was then that he decided to wake up again, and he groaned and blinked in the dark, trying to figure out what had woken him up. Nothing, it must've been himself. He turned and, illuminated by the moon through the window, saw the contour of Robin sleeping on an armchair by his bed, with her head slightly turned to the side, snoring softly. He smiled small, and as if she could feel him, she woke up and looked around, grinning when she distinguished her eyes opened.

“Everything alright?” Robin's voice was sweet and soft and all Strike ever wanted to hear for the rest of his lifetime. She leaned forward and tucked his sheet and blanket better around his neck, the way she knew he liked it.

“Yeah,” said Strike. “Isn't that a little uncomfortable?”

“It's alright.”

“Robin...” Strike reached to squeeze her hand. “Please, why don't you get comfortable in the sofa?” Robin blushed, although the dark hid it away.

“It's too far away from you...”

“It's okay,” said Strike. Noticing she actually didn't want to be far for her own sake and not so much for his, he chuckled and added: “Alright, why don't we share my pillow?” he patted to his side, making some space in bed. It was enough for Robin to lean forward against the pillow, and half support on his chest, sighing content. He kissed the top of her head and intertwined their fingers over his chest. “Now we can both sleep just fine tonight.”

 

 


	23. My home

**Chapter 23:**

After a week in the hospital, Robin and Nick helped Strike manage into Robin's flat. They had agreed that with Emily, the Herberts just wouldn't be able to look after Strike as appropriately as everyone but Strike himself recognised he needed. Strike had, after all, a large incision that needed constant vigilance as well as cleaning, and another smaller one with same needs, he needed help to shower, not just due to his leg but also because someone had to make sure to help him wash without any water touching the bandages, and he needed to focus in resting and not overworking himself, which included shutting his just-emerging detective agency for a few weeks and not doing any detecting that involved getting up and going around the city. So what he mostly needed was people to ensure he wouldn't be so bold to do what he wasn't supposed to be doing.

Robin was alone in her flat, it became obvious that hers was the best option; she worked in her family's company, so she could easily get some free days to be with him, and she didn't have someone else to take care of. Nick would come daily to help with the care-taking of the wounds, and Robin had already suggested he and his family just dinned at her place or something like that, every now and then, to make things more comfortable for them and so Ilsa didn't have to stay behind all alone with a baby.

“I'm telling you,” said Strike flopping onto the sofa. “I'm alright. Gee, nothing worse than the leg.” He wasn't going to complain about being granted days with Robin without an excuse, but he didn't like excessive mothering.

“I'll live you with His Royal Stubbornness,” joked Nick, looking sympathetically at Robin, who smiled. “I've got a daughter of only some months of age and she's easier than you mate.” He added looking at Strike, who gave him his best bulldog expression.

“At least I don't suck your wife's tit,” said Strike. Nick couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Nick left them alone and Strike lied down to nap. As he did so, Robin checked through the window the park where it all had gone down. It was sunny, and a few families were having a picnic. Robin turned, hearing Strike's snoring, and after looking at him for a few moments, she took her laptop and sat on the sofa next to him to work. A few hours later, the snoring had ended and she hadn't even noticed as she was so focused on writing the summer schedule for the company, until she felt so observed she looked down and saw Strike's dark, deep eyes, fixed on her. Robin smirked.

“What are you looking at so intently?” Strike's lips curved upwards a little.

“You're so amusing to watch when you're concentrated,” said Strike hoarsely. “You make these cute things wrinkling your nose and frowning just a little, it's adorable.” Robin felt her cheeks warm and shyly looked back to the screen.

“Creep.” Strike sniggered and with a groan, sat up, putting an arm around Robin and nuzzling into her neck.

“Do you know what I realised the night of the attack?” commented Strike casually as Robin caressed his cheek and continued working with the laptop on her lap.

“What?”

“That you're my home. Not this place. You,” replied Strike. Robin looked at him, touched, and leaned to kiss him.

“How come?” she asked after the kiss.

“Because...” Strike shrugged. “I was thinking I couldn't wait to throw the trash and come back home... and then I noticed that somehow when I think of home, it's you I see in my mind. I don't know... home is supposed to be warm, safe, cosy, sweet, nice... home is supposed to make you feel like it's all right. You do those things. And when I was in the hospital, I always felt I was home as long as you were around, like if for a moment I could forget I was hospitalised.”

Robin looked at him, surprised by how sweet he was now, not that he hadn't always had sweet moments, but they had always only been that, moments. Now he was giving her a moving look, and he seemed younger all of the sudden, and somewhat vulnerable.

“You know...” murmured Robin. “I was married for a very long time and yet in all those years, Matthew never managed to make me feel... like I was where I was supposed to be. I was never fully settled, fully content... it never felt completely right. But with you, in these months...” Robin nodded. “This is my place. This flat, you... this is how it's supposed to be.”

This time it was Strike's turn to kiss her, pressing their lips together softly. Robin stopped him before the kiss intensified too much and he groaned.

“You rest, I'm making dinner.” Robin chuckled getting up.

“Let me make dinner,” petitioned Strike. “Let me bring a restaurant to you.” Robin looked surprised at him, but he seemed, excited, getting up with a grin.

“Are you sure you...?”

“I'm fine. Tell you what, you take a nice relaxing bath, and I blow your mind. Is the least I can do after how well you care for me,” Strike managed to convince Robin and she left to the bathroom.

Luckily, Robin's favourite food was lasagna. Strike only had to put a stool next to the stove so he could sit down, and he put the layers of square-shaped pasta into boiling water, to then find some spinach in the freezer and cook them with a cheese sauce. Next, Strike put the layers of pasta extended on the counter, once they were ready, and got into the complicated process of making a bechamel sauce with Google's help and he grated cheese. Once that was ready, Strike found a container big enough that he could also put in the oven, and while the oven pre-warmed, Strike put the layers of pasta in the container, then a layer of spinach and cheese, then another layer of pasta, then another of spinach and cheese, a last layer of pasta, shaping the lasagna into a perfect rectangle, and he poured the bechamel on top, then the grated cheese, and put it all in the oven. He still had time to find a nice dark blue tablecloth and set the table. As he heard Robin getting dressed in her bedroom, Strike reached a hand out the window to reach a branch of a tree that was close to the window, and he carefully ripped a flower, put it in a vase and on the table, and could even clean the kitchen a little before Robin finally appeared.

She was sniffling in the air like a dog, with her damp hair up in a towel and dressed in her pyjamas, make-up free, and Strike found her the most adorable and beautiful thing in the world, and couldn't help but smile at her.

“It smells deliciously of,” she looked concentrated. “Lasagna? Did you cook lasagna? My favourite?” She grinned at him with eyes bright. Strike nodded. “Oh, Cormoran!” Robin ran and held his face, kissing it multiple times. “You're such a dream.”

“You're going to love it. Now, sit on the table, let me set it all out,” Strike guided her to the table and she gasped seeing how pretty it all was. Strike had even Googled how to make the napkins have a nice shape, and it really looked like a restaurant.

“Woah, God!” Robin looked amazed. “Corm! This is... perfect.” She smiled as Strike moved her chair so she could sit, and poured white wine into her cup. “I don't feel dressed properly.”

“Oh, no,” Strike shook his head. “This is the Striking Restaurant, where the dress code is pyjamas and hair towel.” Robin laughed, endeared.

“You're perfect.”

“No more than you,” Strike leaned and kissed her softly. “Let me get the food.”

Strike came shortly afterwards with the lasagna, smelling super nicely. The surface looked golden and Robin's jaw dropped. Strike served their plates and sat with her, serving himself water, as he was on medication and otherwise he could not take painkillers for bed.

“This is bloody delicious!” Robin said with her mouth full. Strike, who wasn't the biggest fan of pasta, had to admit it was pretty incredible, and felt proud of himself.

“Will you believe I've never home-made lasagna?”

“No way!” Robin closed her eyes and hummed in appreciation of the taste in her mouth. “Good luck London Italians, Cormoran Strike's here!” Strike snorted a laugh. “How did you make such a good bechamel? I could've sworn I didn't have any...”

“I made it from scratch. Google.” Strike admitted. Robin smiled and kissed her, with her lips full of bechamel that he licked off his lips.

“Thank you, this is perfect. You're full of surprises.”

“Just trying to catch up with you.”

They ate dinner in comfortable conversation, Strike surprising himself by eating just a little, as he didn't feel very hungry with his injury. The knife hadn't, miraculously, inflicted damage in any important organs, but he still had a couple stitched up big wounds and a general feeling of being under the weather. He had a little gift for Robin in store and he excused himself after serving ice-cream for desert, so he could go and fetch it. He came back with a square blue velvet box and Robin looked surprised.

“What's that?”

“A little something I bought before the attack. I was going to take you out to that nice Gordon Ramsay restaurant in Chelsea and give it to you then, but given the circumstances...” Strike shrugged apologetically, handing it to Robin. She smiled.

“What a sweetie, you didn't have to! It's not my birthday or anything.”

“Late Christmas present,” excused Strike. Robin opened the box and her jaw dropped.

“Cormoran!” Robin held up a silver-chained necklace with a dark silver pendant hanging from it. Robin examined it close. “It's so pretty... but what is it that's engraved in the pendant?”

“Well, Strike stood behind her, leaning to point at each figure. “This little one is a robin, and this big one is a cormorant... and as they kiss, their figures make a heart, see?” the animals were engraved in relief. Robin grinned seeing it. “I wasn't named after them, but truth is cormorants are popular sea birds in Cornwall, and they love fish, which I kind of do too, and they're enormous and dark. Everyone in my life has pointed out how much they remind them of me at least a billion times in life so I figured... it works. See, that way, whenever I'm not nearby... you can always look at it and think of me. We'll always be together in there.” Strike pointed at the pendant. Robin had just been seeing if there was anything engraved behind it and, as she had predicted, there was a small engraving. She saw it was the date they first kissed.

Robin looked up at him with tearful eyes, not expecting such a romantic gesture all of the sudden, and got up and kissed him without another word, putting her arms around him.

 

 


	24. Fireball

**Chapter 24:**

“What are you doing?” It was raining outside and Strike had just woken up from a nap to find Robin lying next to him on her bed, sitting up with her laptop on her lap, googling houses. Robin moved a hand to caress his unruly curls.

“Looking for another flat, or a house...” said Robin.

“What for?” asked again Strike.

“I was thinking perhaps I'll sell this place,” replied Robin. “I'd need somewhere else to live.”

“What's wrong with here? You loved it when you first bought it.” Strike frowned.

“I know...” Robin let a long sigh out and looked at Strike. “I've just realised that perhaps living here is not a good idea. Think about it, a rapist goes around here, and not just that, a murderer.”

“He's been arrested,” said Strike. “Think about it Robin, this is London, not Masham. There'll be dangerous people wherever you go.”

“Okay but look at this,” Robin pointed to her laptop screen. “Eight floor by Albert's Bridge, right in front of the Thames, with this gorgeous terrace and views.”

Strike leaned in and they saw a beautiful flat in a last floor of a nice dark brown building, with incredible views to the river and London, three big bedrooms, a nice kitchen and a large dining-cum-living room. There was also a beautiful terrace with plants and great views, part of it covered with an awning. It was really nice, although the prize gave Strike chills, and Battersea park was nearby, so there were good places to go.

“Nick and Ilsa's are pretty close too,” commented Robin casually. “I think I'm going to buy it, Cormoran. This place is nice but, in the long term... I don't feel safe enough and plus, it's a bit too small. Besides, if I move there, my parents can stay with me when they visit, even my brothers.”

“Well it's your life,” Strike lied back down. “Whatever makes you happy, love.”

“I was hoping you'd like it too,” said Robin shyly. The necklace Strike had gifted her hung from her neck. “Since now you're living with me, you'd come with me, right? Until you fully recover.”

“I like it here,” Strike patted the bed. “We have great memories here.”

“I know... but life goes on, we need an improvement, right? And this place in Battersea is closer to my work and also to yours. We'll save time commuting. It even has a garage for my Land Rover.”

Strike looked at her excited expression and back at the photographs. It'd be cool and romantic to have dinners in that terrace, staring at London, and the ensuite bathroom of the master bedroom had a huge tub that would make things easier for Strike.

“Alright,” Strike chuckled. “Call them, let's go see it. I'm not letting you buy anything unless we see it first!”

Robin squealed with excitement and quickly called the estate agency. They arranged a visit in an hour, so the pair got ready and quickly got in the Land Rover. The belt bothered Strike's stomach so he shielded it with his hand as Robin drove them west to Battersea.

“It's also closer to Cornwall and to the Emirates Stadium,” was saying Robin on their way there. Strike rolled eyes but smiled.

“You should be a seller, whenever you get bored of your job,” joked Strike leaning back and enjoying the ride. Robin grinned.

Soon enough, they reached Battersea and met with someone from the estate agency, a middle-aged woman named Jessie, who showed them the flat around. At the end they were so impressed, and Strike knew Battersea was a good, albeit snobbish, neighbourhood, that Robin decided to buy it right away. From then on, everything went quite speedy. When Strike was feeling better, they sold the flat in Elephant & Castle for a good amount, and right then they moved to Robin's new one in Battersea. Since Strike was technically still convalescent, the process of furnishing was mostly enjoyable on his part, as many times he could just lie on the sofa and vaguely direct Robin as to whether a painting was hanging straight, or where to put a lamp, things like that. The result, after a few weeks, was a sophisticated an elegant flat with quite the countryside-sea vibe. Robin put plant pots here and there, the furniture had to be warm, so they picked mostly those in real, raw wood, and the carpets, sofa cover and chairs were chosen paying attention for them to have warm colours, like beige, brown, dark green or dark blue, although there were also some greys.

“So you've officially moved here!” Nick told Strike during the dinner at the terrace that inaugurated the flat. Strike was still battling with himself about the topic, but the beer the doctor had finally let him take was making things clearer for him as they enjoyed the summer evening looking at the Thames.

“Well,” Strike bit his lip. “I might still find my own place, but for now, this is nice.”

“Why postpone the inevitable?” inquired Lucy, holding baby Emily.

“That's what I tell him,” Robin smiled, refilling their cups of wine.

“Because I miss living alone, I haven't done it in forever and it would be a great confidence boost,” replied Strike. “At the same time it feels stupid because I like it here and being with Robin.”

“Well you have your office,” said Ilsa. “That's independence enough.”

“Yeah,” Strike shrugged. “Maybe.”

“So,” Nick and Strike were washing the dishes, looking at the others through the kitchen window. “All good with Robin, right?”

“She's been pretty fantastic,” Strike admitted. “Took the best care of me with my wound, helps me back to sleep when nightmares awake me...” Strike shrugged. “She's great, and she loves me, you know? Charlotte never even knew what that is.”

Nick nodded approvingly.

“Marriage type?”

“What? Dunno, Nick, we've only been together for a bit...”

“It's been more than six months, you sure must know if she's someone you want or not.”

“Just because you were willing to marry Ilsa ten seconds after meeting her doesn't mean is the normal thing.”

A smile passed through Nick.

“You know what I mean. Is there any buts?”

Strike looked at Robin, head thrown back in laughter at something Lucy had said.

“No,” replied Strike, feeling something inside of him flutter. “I... I'm just happy, Nick. The agency is going well, I've got some clients, nothing too big for now, but it's starting to pay off, and Robin's loving, supportive, beautiful... she makes me laugh so hard at times and I just love being with her.”

“Then maybe,” Nick shrugged, brushing a dish. “You should start thinking if being with her forever would be nice.”

After their guests had left, Strike and Robin snuggled up in the king size bed, Robin stroking over his scar softly as she got comfortable snuggled against him. Strike smiled at her, staring intently. She looked sleepy and had a faint smile in her face and Strike doubted he'll ever get tired of that.

“Hey Robin?”

“Yes love?” Robin looked up at her with illusion in her eyes, reaching a hand to caress his cheek.

“Thank you for lighting a fire in my life,” murmured Strike softly. Robin beamed, grinning.

“I should be the grateful one!”

“And Robin?”

“Yeah?”

“I think...” Strike looked thoughtful for a moment, with his arms around her. “I think I want to stay with you. You're home. I don't know what sense would it make to ever be far from you.” Robin's grin widened and she snuggled in and kissed him.

As they united as much as they could, it felt like they created a fireball that should never be extinguished.

 


End file.
